


An Unfair Advantage

by Jeannie Peneaux (JeanniePeneaux)



Series: Letters from Grending [2]
Category: Daddy-Long-Legs - Jean Webster, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Companion Piece to Dear Nameless Stranger, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanniePeneaux/pseuds/Jeannie%20Peneaux
Summary: A companion piece to Dear Nameless Stranger, in which Fitzwilliam Darcy receives a great many letters.





	1. April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year to you all. This is a WIP but is all plotted out-- one or two people expressed a wish to see Darcy's view of things. It is by no means perfect but I may come back and give it a polish once we are done. 
> 
> I have no posting schedule in mind but will post when I finish each chapter. Unbeta'd, so if you see mistakes do feel free to let me know, I am always grateful when anyone helps me out like that!

 

Darcy retreated to London having persuaded himself that he would have intended to leave Kent anyway, _regardless_ of Miss Bennet’s answer. He had stayed too long at Rosings and Lady Catherine’s hints that he must surely intend to marry Anne had become less disguised with each delay to his departure.  
  
Even as he reeled from the bitter sting of rejection, such a thought appalled him. Perhaps he was a fool, but even now, he could not contemplate matrimony with anyone but her--even when he knew all hope of _that_ alliance was lost.

By the time he had spent two full days together in London, he admitted the truth to himself--it was not her that he was angry with but himself.  

He had not spoken well. Reviewing his haughty, almost abominably rude, proposal in his mind, he saw it as she must have seen it. Little wonder that she had been so offended.  
  
He hoped that she had read his letter. Had she admired his penmanship, or appreciated the cool and rational manner in which he had written the facts that defended his character? At least in his letter writing, he need feel no shame-- he had been very well educated after all and was much in the practice of correspondence.  
  
It was an odd sort of letter, one he knew would remain unanswered. Society dictated that it should be so and it would be. By the third night he lay awake in his bed, he wondered what she would write to him if she could? Would a reply take the form of further angry invective or would she be sorry for her foolish rejection? Perhaps she might even beg him to forget that she had ever spurned him, having now realised how wrong she had been?  
  
That train of thought did not last long. However wrong Elizabeth Bennet had been in her assessment of his goodness, however hurtful it was to be so dismissed by the woman he loved with such unreasonable constancy, he would not have her beg. She had stood so proudly, so full of confident self-worth when she had argued with him that it would be a great pity to see it diminished in any way, even if it would get him what he most wanted.

Almost three weeks later, when he was still deliberately immersing himself in as much occupation as he could humanly manage, he received a letter from Rosings which he opened with little eagerness. Aunt Catherine habitually wrote long letters often full of self-congratulation and gossip-filled tales regarding her subjects and their petty squabbles. He largely ignored most of her missives, preferring to glance them over to gather the salient points.

Darcy was in the process of doing so, pausing occasionally to sip at his drink when he saw a few words together that brought an end to his preoccupation. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet” and “deceased” made his heart lurch in his chest and the library spin about him. He forced himself to breathe, slowly drank again and read with greater attention. 

  
“ _My parson Mr. Collins, has informed me only this morning that he will be shortly vacating the Hunsford living. It transpires that the current owner of the Longbourn estate and his wife, the parents of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whom you renewed your acquaintance with so recently, are now deceased and thus Mr. Collins must relocate to Hertfordshire. He was quite needlessly concerning himself with the burden of feeding five unmarried females and the propriety of him doing so. It seems that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had rejected him before Mrs. Collins accepted his hand and he was quite agitated about it being improper to support her, given such a history. I naturally advised him that it surely would not be necessary for him to do any such thing. If Miss Bennet has acted so foolishly and left herself and her sisters destitute, she must bear the consequences of her own folly. I lament the lack of forethought so often present in young women in these times._  
_  
I must now find another suitable young curate to fill the position, for Mr. Hownslow will not do at all, he has far too many radical ideas that I cannot approve of._ ” 

Lady Catherine clearly did not think the matter deserved any more room on her paper and continued on with an anecdote that was clearly intended to demonstrate her superiority of mind over that of the lowly Mrs. Jenkinson.  
  
Darcy sat staring at the letter in his hand, appalled.

Had he indeed read the matter correctly? Could his Aunt have truly been so callous as to reduce a bereaved family of gentlewomen to poverty and their own cousin to have _implemented_ it?

He read again and saw, in his mind's eye, the cowardly revenge of a rejected man and grimaced.

Fitzwilliam Darcy would not be like Mr. Collins. If he had written to defend his character to Miss Bennet, then he would prove his bitter words with actions. He would rescue Miss Elizabeth and _prove_ , beyond any doubt that she had been entirely wrong in her reading of his character, and would thus learn what manner of man she had rejected. He was honest enough at least, to acknowledge that he still loved her as ardently as he had the day he had declared himself. He felt a compulsion to help her, knowing full well that had she accepted him. Darcy would have offered her every assistance that was in his power. His wife would have wept on his shoulder and he would have comforted her. 

It was not until they attended Church the following Sunday that he altered his thinking. He had some idea of offering the use of some small cottage in Derbyshire that was lying vacant. He could keep an eye on her from there, as a benefactor, of course, and ensure that she did not suffer. Perhaps she might walk about the estate sometimes, and he might encounter her-- she might feel a certain amount of awkwardness certainly, but nothing that he could not allay with kindness. 

He was ruminating on this when the reverend turned to read the scriptures, “But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.” Darcy straightened in his seat, his colour heightened and the creeping fingers of shame taking hold of him. Georgiana turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows a little in question. He minutely shook his head and directed his attention to the front of the church.

By the time they had returned to the house, Darcy had altered nearly every single aspect of his original plan. If he was to help Elizabeth, he would do so properly and without deceiving himself. She had just lost her parents and would surely wish to be in familiar surroundings, with her sisters. To move her halfway across the country would be a very poor kind of charity. He admitted to himself that such a thought had been for _his_ benefit more than hers. He could not comfort as he would wish, to openly take on her every burden and whisper gentle sympathy into her ear but he could aid her as much as possible from a distance. 

He would do it all and silently, she would never know who had helped her. The thought of gratitude being responsible for correcting her low opinion of him made him feel ill-- if she were to regret her rejection let it be for a better reason than _that_. Let him be a better man than that. He added to the scheme a hired companion, one whom he would first interview before sending her into Hertfordshire-- he did not want Elizabeth shamed, or thought less of by her neighbours for want of a respectable lady living with them. He would insist upon the companion sending regular letters to him, updating him regarding the health and wellbeing of her charges, that would enable him to know for certain that she was safe and cared for.  
  
He thought of the forever unanswered letter that he had placed into her hand at Rosings and stared blankly into the fire, deep in thought.

By the time he was very civilly shown into the legal offices of Mr. Zephanaih Briggs, he had formulated a very thorough and elaborate plan to intercede in the lives of the Miss Bennets.


	2. May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did say I'd post as and when I got a chapter done...so here it is. No letter in this one, we will get to that next chapter. Thanks for reading!

Zephaniah Briggs was an attorney of some considerable reputation in London. His grandfather’s firm had served the Darcy family for almost three generations. Mr. Darcy was not on terms of familiarity with the Briggs family but rather viewed them with the same level of distant respect that he had for any long-standing retainers of his. Those who served the Darcy’s with such faithfulness were valued highly but in no way encouraged to believe that a long-standing association entitled them to become informal.   


He knew Mr. Briggs to be a very useful, discreet sort of man-- after the debacle with Wickham and his sister, he had relied upon him to quietly ensure that Mrs. Younge never worked as a companion again. Briggs asked no questions and if he was curious as to the reason that Mr. Darcy ruined her with such grim-faced determination, he did not ask.

Mr. Briggs himself stepped out of his office and showed him in. He was a short fellow, with small, beady eyes hidden beneath bushy grey eyebrows. He wore a severely cut coat of black and a neatly tied white wig. Darcy had never seen him anything other than entirely sombre-- the attorney was a serious sort of man and far too conscientious to waste time with a smile or anything beyond common civilities.

The man bowed, “Mr. Darcy sir, how may I assist you?” He had a pleasant enough voice, but it was not one that conveyed much by way of expression.   
  
Darcy sat down on the carved wooden chair that was indicated and toyed with the fingers of his dove grey gloves. Georgiana had bought them for him, on a whim, while he was in Kent. He supposed that she had missed him. It was pleasant to know that however badly Miss Bennet thought of him, his sister remained quite devoted.

“I have a matter I should like you to see to, Briggs. It is not the sort of thing I want to be delegated--I desire complete anonymity.”

Something like interest sparked a light in the black eyes of the man of law.    
  
“Certainly sir, you may depend upon me managing things as you would wish. What is the nature of the matter, Mr. Darcy?”   
  
Darcy drew breath, steadying himself before he committed himself to this seeming madness. Perhaps Briggs would think him ridiculous...it hardly mattered. He must act in some way and so he would abandon his misgivings and forge onward. To do nothing was unthinkable.   


“There is a recently orphaned family of young ladies in Hertfordshire. The heir to their late father’s estate has refused to behave as he ought and support them. I wish to do so...without any of them knowing of it.”

The bushy brows rose a little but Briggs remained silent as he drew a fresh sheet of paper onto the desk before him and dipped his pen in its pot, before carefully tapping it free of excess ink.

“What is the name of this unfortunate family, sir?”   
  
“Bennet,” replied he, shortly, before adding, “the estate that they have been living on is named Longbourn and is found on the outskirts of the small town of Meryton.”

Briggs nodded and wrote the direction with great care. Having done so, he looked up, his pen still poised to write. 

“Your instructions, Mr. Darcy?”

“I want you to purchase a likely property on my behalf within the town, to arrange for them to receive an annuity--say five or six hundred pounds and likewise arrange the funds for a suitable companion to live with them.”   
  
Briggs, his interest now evident, nodded once more but remained silent as he wrote. Once he had done so, he carefully laid his pen down and regarded the young man. 

“I can certainly see to such matters, Mr. Darcy. It is unusual, perhaps, but not especially difficult, I take it that there is yet more that you require of me?”

Darcy reminded himself that perspicacity was a merit in such a profession Briggs’. 

“Yes. I want a letter from each of the five Miss Bennets each month-- not for gratitude nor anything of that sort, they need not even be especially lengthy. The letters would need to be sent to you and then on to me.”   


Was it possible that the corner of Briggs' mouth had just curled up in response to his discomfort? Darcy fiddled with his gloves again.

Not the faintest trace of humour or amusement was evident in Mr. Briggs’ tone as he responded to his wealthiest client.    
  
“I see. A general... _ accounting _ of the month, then?”   


“Yes,” said Darcy, stiffly. He wanted those letters. He had been considering, in some depth, the imprudence of such a request but each time he had almost decided to waive this requirement, he reminded himself that if he did so he might never know if there was anything Elizabeth was in need of. He did not think, with the  _ opportunity _ to have such information, that he could opt for silence and still retain his sanity. Perhaps it was nonsensical of him, but Darcy wanted to hold in his hand a letter from her, regardless of whether or not she  _ knew _ it was for him. 

“Very well, I can facilitate such a thing,  although there will be some delay if you are to remove from London for the summer. Do you desire me to arrange for the companion or have you any need to meet the lady? It would compromise your anonymity, of course, but I gather that the female in question must know to keep silent.”   


Darcy considered. He thought of Mrs. Younge. To send such a woman as that into Hertfordshire would serve the Bennets an ill turn indeed. He nodded, “Find me three suitable candidates and I will interview the most likely.”   
  
“As you wish, sir.”    
  
“You may draw on my bank as you require, naturally.”   


“Naturally.” There was a maddening calmness about Briggs, Darcy decided. He almost wished that the man might give some indication of what he thought of such a madcap plan as he had dreamed up. It was none of Briggs’ business, of course, but he surely thought more of the matter than his face and tone indicated.    
  
Darcy rose from his chair. “Well, that is all I wanted, Briggs. I trust you will contact me when the arrangements have been put into place or if any difficulties arise.”   
  
“I do not anticipate any difficulties, Mr. Darcy but I wonder…” he said, as he silently pushed back his own chair and placed the pads of his fingertips on the polished wood of his desk, “if you might not object to me disguising my own name a trifle?”   
  
“Object? No, I shouldn’t think I would object at all...you would surely have a reason for doing so.”   
  
“It is  _ fairly _ well known that this practice as served your family for a good while, Mr. Darcy. I am not of the opinion that a curious young lady is a thing to be dismissed...I have a wife of that ilk.”   
  
Darcy considered Elizabeth.  _ She _ was a curious young lady, he had watched her at Netherfield, her large intelligent eyes were not merely beautiful but they were also observant. If anyone were to ask awkward questions or try to solve a mystery, it would be Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He did not suppose that her sisters would possess the wit to even ponder the matter.   
  
“Mrs. Briggs does not care for unsolved puzzles, I imagine?” It was the most personal question Darcy had ever asked the man.   


Briggs almost smiled, “Her sister is worse. I have had to give up attempting to surprise the pair of them.”

“Well then, having no wife at present, I shall bow to your greater knowledge of females, Mr. Briggs. It is your name, you may, of course, disguise it as you please. I shall leave you now, thank you for your time and the attention I know you will give to this.”   
  
“It is a privilege, Mr. Darcy,,” said Briggs, his countenance sombre once more, “I trust you will not find me forward if I comment that there are many old families that I have served, and my father before him, who give not a single thought to charity in the way that you have done. I am honoured by your trust.”   
  
Darcy pondered Mr. Briggs’ parting words as he settled himself into his carriage and stared blankly through the glazed window. Would he spend his whole life hereafter debating whether his deeds would meet with  _ her _ approval, even once he had earned the approbation of others? Must she remain so thoroughly in the forefront of his mind when she was very likely giving him no consideration at all?   
  
He shook his head at himself. Perhaps he was guilty of selfish disdain after all. Elizabeth Bennet had just lost her parents in one blow-- and he was sat convincing himself that she was somehow unjust to be thinking of anything other than himself. It would not do.   
  
Briggs, with remarkable efficiency, had the bulk of the Bennet arrangements in place within the space of two weeks. He had travelled to Meryton himself and arranged for the purchase of Grending Cottage. It was in good repair-- saving the need of a coat of paint on the front door and in easy distance of the town. The garden, he said, was very pretty. The details of three companions had been deemed adequate and passed on to his client. The first, Darcy dismissed as being far too young, although amply accomplished, the prospective companion was a mere decade advanced of the eldest Miss Bennet and would therefore not do at all. The second, a lady recently employed in Ireland by a widow with five daughters who were now all married-- the similarities between the number of the O’Gall ladies and the Miss Bennets was encouraging, he felt. The third candidate, having been recently bereft of her husband, was recently come to London from Bath, where she had been often in society.    
  
After much consideration, Darcy gave orders that Mrs. Ingles, the second hopeful candidate should be presented to him the next day and he would assess her suitability. On the morrow Darcy rode to Briggs’ offices and within the space of ten minutes, he realised that it was  _ his _ suitability that was being assessed as much as hers. Miss Elizabeth would enjoy studying such a character as Mrs. Ingles, if he was any judge. 

She was a bleak looking woman; tall and long-limbed. She carried herself with poise and grace, however, with none of the awkwardness that he usually saw in tall ladies. Mrs. Ingles was very nearly the equal of him for height and clad entirely in very dark brown with little embellishment. He began by asking her of her experiences in Ireland and whether she had found the charge of five young ladies a challenging task. Certainly, a lively group of young ladies often required careful management but she was of the firm opinion that an excess of spirits was less alarming than a lack of them. She spoke very properly of her recent employer, giving as few details as she could politely manage. Darcy approved of such discretion, it would serve well if she was as close-lipped as she appeared.

She delicately questioned him as to the nature of his acquaintance with the Miss Bennets and thawed marginally when he explained that he would very likely not meet them again for some time. Their paths had crossed and parted, as paths were wont to do and his only desire was to be of service to them. 

He omitted the small detail that he was quite irrevocably in love with the second Bennet daughter, it was irrelevant, after all. His tender feelings toward Miss Elizabeth might have provided an impetus for these doings, but the arrangement did not alter their state of mourning nor did it affect that she had plainly refused him. He could not go near Meryton again for the foreseeable future.

The interview was soon concluded and Mrs. Ingles hired with a warning that the younger Miss Bennets were disposed to great liveliness and that Mr. Darcy expected regular correspondence from her regarding the situation at Grending Cottage. It was not  _ precisely _ necessary for Briggs to quietly remind the black-browed governess that she had signed a  _ binding _ contract promising her total silence, but Darcy was glad that he did, for it gave him the opportunity to observe the most glacial stare that he had ever beheld being directed toward Mr. Briggs.    
  
“To break my word, Mr. Briggs,” said Mrs. Ingles, with stately dignity, “would be to demean myself, which you may depend upon my  _ not _ doing.”

Mr. Darcy’s late grandmama, the Dowager Countess of Matlock, would have been proud to deliver such a set down. Mr. Briggs covered his flinch well and begged her pardon for any offence he had unintentionally given. She forgave him, with all the gracious magnanimity of a queen and Darcy wondered, not for the first time that afternoon, what Elizabeth would make of this woman.   
  



	3. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have only included his reactions to Elizabeth's first letter in this one and the lead up to it. I toyed with the idea of opening each of the sisters' letters too but I have a feeling it would have dragged. I am going to try to get the other Bennet girls' letters in the following chapters. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> p.s. Since I am feeling v pleased with myself, having got a bunch of you into reading DLL and Dear Enemy by Jean Webster-- I wonder if you are aware that there is a recentish musical too? My favourite song from it is Lock Willow currently, any song that gets 'I point my protagonist in one direction and watch to see which way she goes' to actually fit a tune is alright by me. :)

By the last day of June, Darcy had convinced himself that if he was not mad before, he was certainly well on the way to becoming so now. Since the day that Briggs had sent _the letter_ to Longbourn-- the draft of which he himself had approved and Mrs. Ingles had boarded the Post that would take her St. Albans and from thence she would journey in a hired chaise to Meryton-- he had been in a restless state of anxiety.

At one moment he was all calm serenity, certain that there could be no link back to him, that his deeds need never be found out-- the very next, he wondered how he could have been such a blockhead as to suppose that it was not all patently obvious whose hand was behind it. If Miss Elizabeth did not accurately surmise it all in an instant then her mind must be quite addled with grief.

His secretary, Mr. Hinkson greeted him on that day after he had entered the secretary’s office with the information that a bundle of letters had been brought in not ten minutes ago.

“I thought it best not to open them, sir, for all they are directed from _Briggs and Son_ \-- Mr. Briggs has marked it for your attention only, Mr. Darcy.”  
  
Darcy nodded and took the packet, feeling the weight of it in his hand. Surely... _surely_ , if he had been discovered he would not be in receipt of so many...no, he must have been unnecessarily concerned over nothing. Perhaps all had gone according to plan after all.

Hinkson was still talking, “and I have three requests for an audience with you regarding the recently vacated pasture land in the foothills of Marlins Pike, sir-- Frederick Humner wants it for his flock, so too does Elmer Thompson and Farmer Caultson wishes to purchase all fifteen acres.”  
  
Darcy looked at the letters, he wanted to open them _now_. He wanted to send Hinkson off and sit quietly, persuading his thumping heart to steady and read what _she_ had written.  
  
While Hinkson looked at him expectantly. Darcy felt her power over him acutely-- how had it got to the point that he was tempted to delay matters pertaining to his beloved Pemberley to read, to see, what she would write to an anonymous benefactor. He gently placed the packet down.  
  
“Humner can have it. He is the closest geographically and he breeds excellent wool sheep. Offer Hobbs the old windmill field-- the grazing there is perfectly adequate for _his_ needs. I don’t want another incident of bloat.”

“Very good, Mr. Darcy-- I will send regrets to Farmer Caultson.”

“You had better tell him that while the Darcy family remains solvent, I will not part with a blade of Pemberley grass. That ought to quiet his persistence a little.”  
  
“He is an ambitious man, sir. I don’t know how he gets wind of it but every time a piece of land is vacated by a tenant or on account of a death, he is the first one at the door with a request to buy.”

“I should think he spends too much time at the Crown and thus hears more of my business than his own,” said Darcy, a little sourly. “Well then, Hinkson, I have an hour here before I take Miss Darcy out-- if you require my seal and signature for anything now is the time to petition.”  
  
He bore, with saintly patience, his sister off to call upon their Matlock cousins and graciously remained, at her request, with them until tea was served. Had his mind not been focussed so strongly on that small parcel of letters from Grending, he might have enjoyed the afternoon. Georgiana was never happier than with a selection of people she knew well and Richard was in fine form that day, relating many embellished tales of his exploits in Spain.  
  
They returned home to Darcy House at last and he permitted himself to enjoy the library in solitude. A firm instruction that he was to be undisturbed bought him enough time to sit, the letters, seven in all, spread out before him on the desk.  
  
Briggs’ was barely glanced at, for all that it was beautifully brief.

 _Dear Sir,_  
  
_These letters were delivered to me this morning, all appears to be in order with regards to the relocation of the Miss Bennets to Grending Cottage._  
  
_Z. Briggs_

He opened Mrs. Ingles’ letter next, feeling that he ought to, given that it was the only one marked on the outside by name.

  
_Dear Sir,_  
  
_The arrangements at Grending Cottage are most satisfactory, I arrived here the afternoon before the Miss Bennets moved the last of their personal belongings in. I find in the eldest Miss Bennets everything that is delightful, Miss Bennet, in particular, has taken upon herself the mothering of her sisters. She relies heavily upon Miss Elizabeth for counsel and support._

 _They are still deeply in the throes of grief but each of them has individually expressed a great sense of relief that they are able to face the mourning period together. I intend to spend this first month in observation before attempting any kind of guidance with the young ladies. They have all been diligent in their letters to you, although I believe that Miss Lydia is not much in the habit of letter composition._  
  
_Yours,_  
  
_Verity Ingles_

The remaining letters were identical in terms of address and paper. Each sheet was neatly folded into thirds and sealed simply with red wax. There was nothing save the minor differences in handwriting to distinguish between them. Another time, when he felt less impatient, he might have found a measure of interest in trying to fathom which letter was _hers_ , but today he could not. The plain ‘Sir’ inscribed on each white rectangle did not give enough variance to form an educated supposition from in any case.

He deliberated for a moment before breaking the seals of each letter and looking for the signature on each. Elizabeth’s was found on the fourth attempt and Darcy discarded the fifth (Miss Mary’s, he deduced) unopened and sat forward in his eagerness to read.

Hers was the longest letter that he had looked over so far, elegantly penned with a certain flamboyance of style. He stared, for too long, at the signature, “ _Elizabeth Benne_ t”. He had known he was not cured of his love for her, why else should he have done so much for her without her being aware of it? Why should he feel so fixated even on the _sight_ of her name, in her own hand? He must remember that she hated him, that the sight of his name on his own letter, put into her hands in April, did not inspire the same fierce feeling in her breast as he felt at this moment. He piled all the other letters on his desk and cradled hers in his hands. 

He read it once through first, very rapidly, seeking out his own name and any indication that she knew to whom she was writing. He found none, and gradually the trembling of his fingers ceased.

Darcy heaved a sigh of relief and read again, this time with great care. He had felt that now familiar pull in his chest as he read Elizabeth’s opening, that ache of separation, even as he smiled wryly at her claim of docility. By the time he read her ending, how she would give thanks to God for _him,_ he was clutching the page so tightly that he had rumpled the edges. He laid it down and smoothed it, as best he could, annoyed at his own lack of self-control and read it a third time, savouring each word and hearing it spoken by her sweet voice that had so often seemed to be on the cusp of laughter. 

He was relieved that her cheek was not noticeably diminished by her sorrow, at any rate. What _was_ it in her, that she could write and speak so impudently and yet render one unable to take offence? It was the great mystery of Elizabeth Bennet. He imagined that if he _were_ an ‘Entirely Anonymous Sir’, he would be thoroughly charmed by this skillfully executed skirting of his _explicit_ requirement that the letters not be used to express gratitude.  
  
A huff of laughter escaped him and he smiled, for what seemed like the first time since April. He _was_ a fool, there was little denying it. He had feared her finding out but he had not at all taken into consideration that to read a letter from Elizabeth Bennet each month might pull him further into love with her than ever before.

Two days later, he had read the letter more times than he cared to admit, even to himself. It lived, nestled against his heart, in his coat pocket. He knew he had to stop when he was in a fair way to knowing the whole of it by heart and he reached for the other, less interesting, letters to read when he found himself bleakly wondering if ‘Widow Pendleton’s son’ was likely to be an unmarried young man. Perhaps he was and he had been only too delighted to name a low price for his dead mother’s furniture to Elizabeth and her eldest sister. A full minutes consideration led him to pity the poor fellow, after reading the account again-- Elizabeth could doubtless wheedle a bargain out of any man, himself included. Darcy indulged himself then, imagining the pleasure he might have taken in being cajoled by her. His imagination failed him, however, in thinking of the sorts of things Elizabeth might ask for-- somehow he could not picture her asking for sapphires or a fur coat.

No, he would wager that Elizabeth Bennet-- however wrong he had been about her feelings for him-- would not be wooed by trinkets and baubles, those would be for a man to give merely for the joy in seeing her wear them. 

Perhaps he might take a trip to Hatchard’s bookshop that afternoon, Mrs. Ingles might appreciate a small delivery, aimed at expanding a young ladies mind. If Miss Elizabeth Bennet had opinions or differing tastes then she would likely say and he could adjust his educational offerings accordingly another month.

Darcy smiled. He could almost, he thought, begin to enjoy himself.

 


	4. July

Darcy’s face burned as he read Miss Lydia’s letter containing her impressions of the month of July. The heat in his face was not solely on account of the strong August sunshine and his heavy jacket. Miss Lydia Bennet was in dire want of schooling it was true but her sad abandonment of the most common forms grammar and punctuation were _nothing_ in comparison to the shockingly frank way in which the girl wrote.  
  
She had, for whatever unknown reason, elected to describe in excruciating detail the cosy feeling of climbing into bed with  Elizabeth after having experienced unpleasant dreams. Darcy did not think he was unfeeling, he had, after all, been occasionally prey to nightmares _himself_ since April but he highly disapproved of the impropriety of writing such personal things to him, a stranger. Particularly given that she had written of Miss Elizabeth Bennet as being ‘the most marvellously warm bodied bedmate’.  
  
He was so shocked that he read the paragraph twice over-- to ensure that he was properly appalled by it.

If Elizabeth ever found out who her ‘Sir Nameless Gentleman’ was, she would be mortified to know what her youngest sister had written.  
  
_Dear Sir,_

_It has been monstrusly hot here this month and we have eaten in the garden every day. We never did so at Longbourn for Mama would have been afraid that the neighbours would think us unsivilised, but it is a lark to sit on a blanket instead of at a dinning table._

_Mrs. Ingles has insisted on giving me things to read. I tried arguing about it but when I said I was still far to upset about Mama and Papa she suggested that the distraction of a good book would very likely help and that I would surely wish to make them proud of my acomplishments._

_It is clear she never met them. I told her that Mama thought me perfect as I was and that Papa was equally sure that I was very stupid. I think she might have felt sorry for me then, for she handed me the book and said very nicely that they were quite likely to have both been wrong. I had not ever thought of that before but I cannot shake it out of my head now. I spoke to Lizzy about it and she agreed with Mrs. Ingles. Lizzy said that Mrs. Ingles was very wise so I should try to discover who Lydia Bennet is in truth, without Mama and Papa here to tell me. I laughed, of course for it is such a silly notion-- I have been Lydia Bennet all my life after all and I think I know alreaddy who I am._

_I do love Lizzy, I know that much. I love all of my sisters but I do not think I ever properly knew how kind Lizzy can be until Mama and Papa died. She was the one who told me. Jane could not speak for the whole day after Mama passed on and when Papa-- the very next day!-- died too she was so very shoked she could not do anything save sit and weep. It was Lizzy who sat us all down in the drawing room and held us tightly. She smells of roses, it is a scent I never cared for so much before but now I will think of my sister whenever I am near it._

_Jane emerged the next day and felt prodigous gilty for having left all to Lizzy but Lizzy shook her head and would have none of her apologies. She said that we must all try very hard to be good to each other now. I have tried to squable less with Kitty and be kinder to Mary, but that is sometimes very hard, especially when Mary will moralise at me for the space of ten minutes together without pausing for breathe._

_For the first week after Mama and Papa were buried, I had the most dredful nightmares every night-- the first one had me waking the whole household and after that Lizzy told me I must sleep beside her so that she could hold me when I was frigtened. Jane is not quite so plesant to sleep beside as Lizzy, but she ofered also I think she feels that she must be like a mother, but all that does is make me feel so very angrey. I know that it is not her fault but I have to leave the room when she does it or else I will burst out and shout loudly at her._

_Lizzy is the most marvelusly warm bodied bedmate, I might try to persaude her in the winter that she and I should share rather than Kitty, Mary and I-- but I suppose that she will not leeve Jane. There is something so very cosy about climbing into bed with a sister and having her sleepily pull me in close, just when I need to be close-- I do not supose you can quite understand for I do not believe that gentlemen are at all the same as girls._

Darcy thought of his sister and grimaced, the thought of it was decidedly disquieting and he quickly pushed the notion away. Fortunately, the rest of the youngest Miss Bennet’s letter contained no further torture, rather--a relatively mundane detailing of her month at Grending and an extremely frank diatribe on the respective evils of Mr. and Mrs. Collins. He pursed his lips, considering her. She was, in a way, quite surprising. She appeared to have a streak of honesty within her letter that often led her into a bluntness that made him frown. Yet, there was no malice in this girl, from what he had seen thus far. Certainly, she was boisterous and sometimes unmannerly but she did not seem to be quite so disgraceful as he remembered when he was in Hertfordshire. Perhaps he had looked at her unchecked liveliness and judged far too harshly. He should not like anyone to think Georgiana proud and haughty, rather than shy and timid-- if they were to look from a distance. That thought gave him pause.

Darcy shook his head at himself, Elizabeth had looked at him in the same way in which he had at her family-- looking to find fault, and he had not at all enjoyed the consequences.

Elizabeth’s July letter once again was tucked inside his coat pocket and read whenever he was at leisure and alone. It was probably for the best that such an opportunity did not appear often, or he would be in great danger of his obsession growing.

Reading of the moments of pleasure that Elizabeth took delight in, their time in the garden, for instance, gave Darcy a good deal of satisfaction. He exulted in whatever happiness she was able to find at Grending, knowing that he had contributed to it, even without her knowing. He knew, however, that if she was aware of it, she would very likely resent every moment that she was dependent upon him-- her pride, for all her accusations, was the equal to his.

 If the beginning of Elizabeth’s letter made him smile and his fear of being discovered a little less looming, the end of it made his heart beat faster when he realised that the oblique and discreet reference to ‘ _two gentlemen, who shall be as nameless as you’_ referred to he and Wickham. She had read that letter then...and believed his account.

Seeing her regret at her error of judgement did not bring him the sense of triumph that he had thought it would. He did not even feel particularly vindicated in her acknowledgement that it was her own pride that had been wounded. Predominantly, as he lingered often over her closing paragraphs, his overriding feeling was that of pity.

Poor Elizabeth! She showed greater courage in her painful self-realisation than he had. He, after Hunsford, had adamantly believed that she was entirely wrong-- he was not guilty of pride or conceit, it was all her blindness that led her to those haunting words.

He had been wrong and she had been wrong. There was less excuse for him though, she could plead youth and inexperience-- he had started when he first realised just how young she was, he had not expected it.

Elizabeth’s adieu lightened his spirits once more, it pleased him immensely that she was not entirely cast down by her mistakes. It was an unintended lesson to him for Darcy was not a man to easily dismiss error, particularly one that had been made by him. There were enough people dependent on him, not just Georgiana but also in much of Derbyshire, that any mistakes he made, tended to have far-reaching consequences. Since he had been a boy, he had easily become despondent when corrected--his father’s reproof particularly troubled him for he did not like to fail in anything. Miss Elizabeth had the right of it with her laughing acknowledgement that however painful a lesson, it served a purpose-- that of development. She may well paint a pretty picture of herself as a grand matriarch, surrounded by adoring grandchildren and husband, it was a pleasant thought and she would make a delightful mother, he supposed.

Darcy frowned a little deeper with each reading of the ‘handsome, silver-haired husband’. He still did not care for the thought that Elizabeth Bennet would wed _any_ man but himself. He made his way to the nearest mirror in his house, a little silver framed one that likely belonged to some long-dead Mrs. Darcy. He was generally considered very handsome, he mused, not that it had apparently made a particle of difference to Elizabeth and--he believed that his father had gone steadily silver from the temples from the time he had been in his forties. It was a pity that he could not find a way to mention it to the lady the next time he encountered her, alas, it would be far too obvious that he had been the recipient of these letters.

Feeling the need for some comfort, he reached once again for Miss Lydia’s letter.

 


	5. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a week! I have had a challenging few days. For some reason, I procrastinated on getting this chapter started because I was a bit daunted by it. Turns out my instinct was correct as it is stupidly long. Uneven chapter lengths really bother me, so I will likely have to go back to the others at some point and rejig them. 
> 
> Thank you, as ever, to the lovely readers who have read, commented, left kudos, bookmarked and subscribed. You'd be surprised, I think, at how it cheers me up and spurs me on. 
> 
> Please once again note that I am not posting my stuff anywhere other than A03 (because I am too disorganised to keep track of multiple updates!) so if you see anything else where I'd be grateful if you could let me know. Many thanks.

The Darcy’s had removed to Pemberley by the middle of August. London was unbearable in the heat and Darcy declared one morning that Georgiana must surely be longing for the pleasant groves and fresh, clean air of their ancestral home. She was an agreeable girl and knew her duty. Having had no thought of leaving London the previous day, she agreed that yes, London  _ was _ an uncomfortable place to be when it was warm and that she should be delighted to leave Darcy House for Derbyshire. 

It was a relief to be home, Darcy found, however little he liked to be so physically distant from his one connection to Elizabeth. His letters would necessarily be delayed in reaching him-- there might be the space of a week or more between the morning Briggs received them and the time when they would be put into his hand.

When they did get to him, on the final day of August, he had just returned from his morning ride and made himself wait while his valet dressed him and presented himself in the breakfast room to bear Georgiana company for the first meal of the day.

Not for the first time, he imagined Elizabeth sitting in his sister’s seat opposite him. It was a position that Georgiana had never liked to occupy, even before she had experienced the blow of the Ramsgate. She was pleased enough to be in his company and was honoured, she said, to take on the role of managing Pemberley as best she could but as soon as there was a company involved she began to feel so very afraid of misstepping that she could scarcely speak. It had always been thus, for Georgiana-- she was a handsome girl but had a debilitating horror of being stared at on account of it.

The eldest Miss Bennet, in her very first letter to him, had mentioned a similar dislike. She had written that she would describe herself as honestly as she was able, assuming as she did that he was lonely and wished for written company.    
  
“ _ Kitty and I are both of a more timid disposition than our sisters-- Elizabeth and Lydia are so fearless that I often wish I had the courage to match them. Dearest Mary is by turns shy and confident, she has said to me that if she is behind a pianoforte or a book she fears nothing for she knows that our dear neighbours in Meryton are paying far more attention to those than her. I have no talent for the pianoforte like Mary and although I do read for pleasure I have often thought that a book never seems so interesting to me as when Lizzy will read aloud to us all. She has such a gift for expression. I may not feel so very crushed as Kitty when under observation, but it does make me deeply uncomfortable. I always feel as though such stares are to evaluate me, even if they are meant kindly, and that they must surely find me wanting in some way. It makes me less ready to speak in a company as I do at home and I fear that there are those who have found me more aloof than I should like them to because of it. _ ”

Elizabeth had never seemed to mind him staring at her. She had laughed at him sometimes at Netherfield when he had looked too long and not realised-- her brow had quirked upwards and her eyes had smilingly mocked him for his inattention. She had not ever stumbled over her words nor behaved as though she wished to sit, invisible, in the corner. Elizabeth did not struggle in a crowded room, not as he and his sister did-- in fact, she almost seemed to enjoy it. He had noted that in the presence of lively people, her spirits had become animated and her manners, whilst always acceptable, had taken on a delightful vivacity that infected each of the company in turn. 

He would make his excuses and rise from the breakfast table after a reasonable period of time had passed. He wished to head to the library and read his letters. It was an indulgence, certainly, but surely Georgiana would not miss his company for an hour or so. She had Mrs. Annesley after all.    
  
“I must leave you after we have breakfasted, Georgiana-- I have some letters that must be read. You will not mind?”   
  
“Oh...no...of course not, brother. Might we ride out to Lambton this afternoon...if the weather remains so fine? I should like to ride through and see if anything has changed since the last time I was here, I will gladly delay going for an hour if you will come with me.”

He sipped at his coffee and agreed to the scheme. “Yes, certainly, sister. I am at your service-- after I have read my letters. I am sure that you and Mrs. Annesley will find something to occupy you while I am busy in the library?”    
  
Georgiana looked to her companion, who nodded with all her usual serenity, “Miss Darcy and I have been intending to review the order of precedence for a few days, sir. It can be done within an hour quite easily.”   
  
His sense of brotherly duty suitably soothed, Darcy finished his coffee and departed from the table soon after. Selecting for his comfort an upholstered chair, situated nearby to one of the windows, he shuffled through the small stack of letters. It had come to the point in the scheme wherein he no longer troubled himself to read Mrs. Ingles’ account of the month first. He was only fooling himself with such pretence after all. It was Elizabeth’s that he wished to read, to lose himself in and see things as she saw them.    
  
She made him smile so easily, even in her opening paragraph with a peculiar turn of phrase-- it was not difficult to imagine her bent over a little desk, quill in hand and a wry smile gracing her lips as she thought of taking Miss Mary on a particularly muddy walk. Miss Mary, he inferred from her previous letters, was not at all addicted to spending time in the outdoors. 

The peaceful feeling of amusement abated somewhat as she related the clock-altering habits of her departed father. He could, to his regret, picture that also-- a mournful little circle of sisters, offering what comfort to each other that they could. They were all so young, too young really, to lose both of their parents in one blow. He remembered so well, Georgiana’s bewildered grief when he held her hand and, in words that could never be gentle enough, told her of their father’s passing. Perhaps he should have done more then, held her tightly and let her weep on his shoulder, assuring her that he would be as dutiful a guardian to her as he could be-- however little a young man of two and twenty knew of such things.

Smiling once again, this time at Mr. Bennet’s clever solution to alleviating his daughter’s boredom, Darcy read on. He wondered if Georgiana would recognise the jest if he did so to her the next time she sat and sighed for an occupation. Perhaps not, they were neither of them of a disposition to such humour. However devoted they were to each other as brother and sister, they were both aware of their own dignity and did not like it if they perceived it to be prodded at.

Well, that was not quite true of him any longer. Elizabeth Bennet had done rather more than merely prod at his dignity, she had, upon occasion, been very close to outright mockery. He shook his head fondly, as he remembered her words at Netherfield, “Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise.”

Reading with some amusement, her unconventional opinion of Homer he rose and made his way to the shelf that contained the works of Shakespeare and swiftly slid Hamlet from its place on the shelf.  He then returned to his seat and his letter, book in hand, he would look through it that evening. It would be a pleasant diversion, Darcy told himself, to peruse what she had so recently enjoyed.

The happy thoughts of an enjoyable evening fled at the mention of unsuccessful proposals made to Elizabeth. It was apparent that he was not merely in company with her obsequious cousin but also young Mr. Goulding, whose face he could not recall, had evidently attempted to secure Elizabeth early on. He wondered how she had rejected the young boy-- if he was Elizabeth’s age he must yet be at University, which would explain the reason he did not recollect him. Darcy, who was readily able to imagine that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been a delightful child, could almost feel pity for the lad. Perhaps she had dismissed him with less vigour though.

He felt no pity for Mr. Collins whatsoever, however, as he read on through the letter. That such a man could claim himself a gentleman was beyond endurance! To have ignored Elizabeth was both ridiculous and unpardonably rude. What had she done to deserve such treatment? Nothing save recognise her own worth in the face of his pretensions. Whilst Collins had remained a humble parson he had swallowed the rejection,  _ knowing _ how far above him she was. As soon as she had been reduced in circumstances, however, he had clearly leapt upon the opportunity to demonstrate his outraged pride-- never mind that he was now wed to her friend.

Darcy scowled. He did not believe he was a vindictive man, but should he encounter Mr. Collins again, he would take a certain amount of pleasure in defending the Bennet sisters-- he knew not what he might do --but surely he must do  _ something _ . It was not at all just that all five of them had suffered for Mr. Collins’ wounded pride. He knew now, as he had not before, that there was no real harm in any of them, they had not deserved to be so cast off, not in the least.

When Elizabeth related the conversation that she had overheard in the haberdashers he had, at first reading, been inclined towards delight. She had a talent for describing a man in such terms as to paint him as a vacuous and conceited popinjay without being so unladylike as to say so. It was becoming harder each time to remind himself that she had probably employed such a gift in describing him-- perhaps she had written a scathing account of his behaviour to her father whilst in Kent. It would not do, to pretend to himself that he had been spared a humorous shredding of his demeanour.

He read that particular part of the letter once more, feeling oddly disquieted by it and unable to quite determine why-- beyond the fact that he suspected she had seen equal conceit in him. No, it was not that which made him feel uneasy.

“ _ Such a pompous man would be far less amusing if one was forced to endure his company constantly _ .”

Unexpectedly, his thoughts flew to his sister. Had he been guilty of dismissing her that morning, the way the drawling dandy of questionable taste in velvet had done to his companion? Oh granted, he had not cut her off mid-sentence, he hoped he was rather better mannered than that…but had he heard only what he wanted to hear in her response to his departure to this very library? Was he still every bit as selfish as he had ever been? 

It was true that he had improved himself with regards to the assistance he had rendered the Bennets but in everyday matters-- was he dismissive? 

He stared, unseeing at the letter in his hand. However eager he was to devour it and keep it close to his heart, he had responsibilities to fulfil. Elizabeth, who by every account from her sisters, did not neglect her beloved Jane or Mary, neither did she elect to do what she wished rather than spending time in company with Catherine or Lydia.

He guiltily folded the letter, unfinished and went to find Georgiana. 

She was sat, a little glumly with book in hand with Mrs. Annesley in the gallery and looked up eagerly from her book when she saw him advancing down the long light room that ran the length of the house. His ancestors gazed down upon him disapprovingly as he approached. 

“Why, brother! Are you done with your letters so soon?”

“No, not yet Georgiana-- I have decided that my letters may wait. Miss Darcy of Pemberley has requested my company to Lambton and I cannot fathom what I was thinking to put off such an honour. Forgive me.”

Concerned, she laid aside her book and stood. “ _Oh_ _no_ Fitzwilliam! You must not beg my pardon for so small a thing as that. Perhaps I was a little disappointed but if I was it is only because I know you to be the best of good company...I know you have a great many responsibilities.”

He took her hand and patted it, she was very little Mama in some ways. Mama had been utterly unable to even think of him as anything other than utterly perfect. Mayhap he had more in common with Miss Lydia Bennet than he could have dreamed of. 

“Georgiana, I would not have you think you are less important to me than any duty I have to the family estates. If I err so again, do not fear to point out my error.”   
  
She laughed, a little disbelieving, and still perturbed by his penitence for so minor a thing as having put her off a little. “You know I should not dare to do so. Do you wish me to change for riding now?”   
  
He looked to Mrs. Annesley, “well madam, are you satisfied that my sister is well acquainted with whom she must show deference to? May I take her off for a good gallop?”   
  
Serenely, the good companion agreed and Georgiana, touched by her brother's thoughtful nature, was sent off to be dressed by her maid. Darcy ordered the horses to be saddled and brought to the front of the house. He waited outside in the bright sunshine and withdrew Elizabeth’s letter from his pocket. There could be no harm, he reasoned, in finishing it while Georgiana was being buttoned into her habit. 

It was typical of her, he was learning, to wish to do something for her sisters such as grow lavender, even if it meant toiling in the dirt. He would not prevent her from such kindness, such thoughtfulness was an example to him.

Darcy read the last two lines and drew his brows together, feeling the full force of his powerlessness in being unable to communicate directly. It was only the appearance of Georgiana on the steps, squinting into the sunshine that prevented him from immediately returning to his desk and sending off an order to Briggs.

He thought on that matter as he and his sister rode through the parkland that had belonged for centuries to their family. They had a pride in these green, steeply sloped hills and groves. He tried to be attentive to Georgiana but occasionally they lapsed into silence and it was then he permitted his mind to wander back to the letter in his pocket.

He would write a note to Briggs, but he would not be so carelessly specific as he had at first thought to be. Surely, for the sake of  _ all _ of the sisters, they  _ ought _ to remain unmarried and together. They had no  _ need _ to hasten to be wed after all-- he had promised them money each year for the foreseeable future, had he not? Yes. Certainly, he would not forbid Miss Elizabeth Bennet to throw herself away unworthily-- he would require Briggs to relate that  _ not one _ of the Miss Bennets was to enter into an engagement whilst under his roof. That would ensure that Elizabeth remained unattached and that he remained relatively sane without raising undue suspicion. It might mean that Briggs was unduly amused at his expense, or would think him a great fool, but that hardly mattered when there was so much at stake.

As they entered Lambton, Georgiana quietly laughed at the sight of a prodigiously ugly smock in the window of Messrs. Finch and Pimley-- purveyors of useful garb for agricultural folk and various useful items relating to such occupation.

“It is designed for practicality rather than beauty in mind, Georgiana-- but certainly, I do not suppose it will be seen on any of the debutantes at court next season.”

Georgiana laughed again a little, aware that the good people of the town had remarked their presence and were doffing their caps and curtseying respectfully. “Surely brother, if a single young lady were brave enough to wear it she should certainly remain unattached by the time summer came!”    
  
Her brother, nodding absently to one or two of the more prominent residents of the town, looked as though he were giving her words rather more thought than they merited. 

“Yes. Yes...you are quite correct. I should not have thought of it, myself. It is a good thing that we came into town.”

“Brother?” 

“It is of no moment, Georgiana-- do nod to Mrs. Humner, she is attempting to catch your eye, my dear.”

 


	6. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, a longish one again. Kitty and Mary wrote more than I expected. Next week we have the not so fun time of October and a letter from the eldest Miss Bennet.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy it.

  
  


If Darcy were to own himself surprised by any of the Miss Bennets, he would say that it was Miss Catherine Bennet whose letters were vastly different to the insipid personality she had displayed during his time in Hertfordshire.    
  
He was perfectly ready to admit that he had paid her very little attention, often coupling her in his mind with the more ebullient Miss Lydia and far too often straying into behaviour that was unbecoming.

Yet, her letters did not match well with a silly and flighty girl who was forever following in the shadow of her younger sister. She wrote in a decidedly whimsical manner, the like of which he had never before encountered. It was clear that she had not been well taught, her complete abandonment of the usual formality of address made that quite plain, but in spite of the unusual style, he found his attention quite caught by her monthly account. Catherine did not write her letters with clarity in mind, that was plain. She would describe, in great, artistic detail some small thing but quite forget the importance of context. Had he not the letters from the other Miss Bennets to enlighten him, he should find it almost impossible to determine what it was she was attempting to speak of.

Elizabeth had been wrong, in her supposition regarding Miss Kitty, she had suggested that entire pages might be devoted to the description of bonnets and the like. No, Catherine Bennet might be given to excessive description, but she did not waste her paper on anything so mundane as a bonnet. 

Her letter from the month of September was by turns quaint and exasperating to him, being as it was so typical of every letter she had thus far written.

_ Dear Sir, _

_ There is a field of wheat that I often walk past. It did not belong to Papa but it is a long ribbon of yellow between what used to be the great meadow and Oakham woods. If you look at it from higher ground, it winds along the landscape like a river of gold in the summer. The wheat is almost to my waist at present and will soon be cut down. It is so sad that such a pretty thing must be destroyed in order to feed us. I cannot help but feel for the field mice and other inhabitants that have made their homes therein, imagining themselves quite safe from all harm-- what a shock they will have in a few weeks time when the men will come with their sharp scythes and hooks to cut down their little houses.  _

_ Perhaps they have their own little streets and dwelling places in the wheat fields that we will never know about. Mayhap the lady field mice will pay calls upon each other and encourage their daughters to be charming to the young gentlemen mice. I wonder if gentlemen field mice are not judged to be handsome by their height, but rather by the length of their whiskers and tails. If an upstanding member of the mousey village should pass on of old age, I can quite suppose that there might be a little funeral procession for them and that their daughters and sons should be quite overcome with grief for a time. But when the harvest time comes, there will be none of them left to bury their dead with great dignity will there? Instead, children will come and pull apart their nests and exclaim how cunningly wrought they are-- some of them might even suppose that they themselves are not so clever as that with their hands and then they will throw it away, with not a moment more thought.  _

_ I wish that I could dream up a suitable punishment upon Mr. and Mrs. Collins, for they have wronged us greatly. Not only did Mr. Collins write so coldly to Jane, sending her into a dreadful fret for our future, but he has now wounded Mary.  _

_ Mary says that she has rather better things to be hurt by than a pompous little nobody such as Mr. Collins and that I must not think that she is affected by him. But if she, who is so detached from the more usual causes of tears (she did not even blink when Lydia used to say she was ugly) was quite shaking with her weeping last night after he insulted us, surely it must have affected her more than she has admitted.  _

_ Even Lydia noted it, and she never notices anything. Mary said that she was weeping from shame, that she had so lost herself to all christian decency as to wish injury on the man. I do not think that Lydia helped matters by being so enthusiastic in her suggestions for revenge. Mary was quite shocked, but at least she did not feel so wicked afterward in the face of Lydia’s grave depravity and we were all able to blow out our candles and go back to sleep. _

_ I love to blow out a candle, there is something in the plume of smoke that seems so beautifully romantic. It does not merely expire-- it sputters out of existence and leaves a ghostly meandering line of grey that eventually disappears into nothing. It is both sad to see and very pleasing to follow the curve of it with the eye until it can no longer be seen. I wonder if people peter out in the same way as a candle. Did Mama and Papa sputter and fade in the same way-- was it beautiful? I was not there and Jane and Lizzy will not speak of it. _

_ I do not think that Lizzy is quite herself these last few days, she is prone to moments of silence when before she would fill the empty space with cheery talking. It is always Elizabeth that does little things to bring gaity to a company. People think that I do not notice things because I cannot always speak them and I wish I could tell them that the silent ones see more than anybody. Look to the silent cat for that-- they slink about the place and mutely watch one very carefully. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a cat? It feels for all the world as though they know every thought that you ever had. _

_ From, _

_  Kitty. _

Miss Catherine Bennet, it would seem, was of an original bent of mind. Darcy doubted he had the capacity to fully appreciate it. He was not the sort of man to imagine communities of animals behaving as though they were people. To him, a flourishing field of wheat was a goodly sight because it meant for a good and profitable harvest if it did not rain.

Miss Mary’s letter that month was rather more enlightening as to the happenings of Meryton in September but not at all typical of her style. Ordinarily, Miss Mary’s letters, though laid out in an orderly fashion, were not at all prone to emotion. She wrote faithfully of the more interesting goings on about her in a clear fashion but oftentime Darcy could not at all make out what her impressions of them were. Not so this month. Miss Mary’s temper had been riled and he read of her blistering scolding of one William Collins with one corner of his mouth turned up in appreciated amusement. 

_ I may as well tell you that although this letter has taken on the style of a confessional,  _ _ I am not sorry in the least _ _. Mr. Collins is an odious little man who deserved each and every truth I told him. _

_ When I heard him speak so slightingly of Jane and of the falsehoods that he attributed to her, I was filled with such anger-- I was not at all prepared for it. I could not listen to such vile slanders against my sisters a moment longer, and to know that Mrs. Collins was standing there, not troubling herself to defend us, when she has known us all our lives-- it compounded my anger and I stepped out of the music room.  _

_ Charlotte, whom I favoured with a disdainful glare that I have often observed from my father, blanched, and Mr. Collins turned quite red. I am not eloquent of speech, it is Lizzy who can craft a handful of words as a fletcher does a quiverful of arrows, I have other accomplishments that serve me rather better. I waited in silence for the pair of them to acknowledge me, to make them well aware that I had heard each and every lying word that Mr. Collins had spoken. Charlotte attempted to ease the awkwardness of the situation by asking me civilly if I had finished so soon and would I care to take tea with her before I left.  _ __  
__  
_ I did not  _ _ want _ _ the awkwardness to diminish. I wanted them to feel every inch as dreadfully out of place as we Bennets have since Mr. Collins announced that we were greedy and grasping to even expect him to provide us with a home after we were bereft of our parents.  _ __  
_  
_ _ I shall relate, as accurately as I can, all that I said in my temper, but I repeat that  _ __ I am not sorry.

_ I told Mrs. Collins that I was entirely finished and that no, I did not at all wish to take tea in a house where her wicked hearted and falsehood speaking husband resided. I said that as poor as we may be since he cast us off, callously giving us no recourse, we would none of us disgrace ourselves by setting foot in such a  _ _ dishonest _ _ and  _ _ unchristian _ _ house again. _

_ I told her that should she wish for proof, Jane still has the letter that her reverend husband  (I enjoyed saying that) wrote-- his own hand would condemn him. I unflinchingly said that I hoped that he was justly repaid for every single tear and sorrow that he had needlessly inflicted upon Jane. _

_ He tried to remonstrate with me then, citing the fact that he was the head of the family and that I ought to have more respect for the position that my father had occupied. I glowered at him and asked how I could possibly have respect for him, a man who was so riddled in self-conceit and falsehood? I told him that he would have his reward. _

_ I cannot tell what Charlotte Collins made of any of it, she stayed blank and silent throughout. Perhaps she had never seen me speak so, perhaps she was unsure what to do, given that she is married to the oaf. I hope that if I was ever wed to such a man, that I would do what my conscience told me was right and not would more greatly convenience me. I cannot see that Elizabeth will ever forgive her for her treachery, she once thought so highly of plain Miss Lucas that she would not hear a word against her. I know my sister, and I know that one cannot injure any of us and retain any favour with her. _

_ I  _ _ almost _ _ felt ashamed of myself when I saw Hill standing by, having collected my bonnet and gloves and waiting patiently by the door with them, but when I took them from her, I saw unmistakable warmth in her eyes. She did not say anything, she could not, for I am sure she should be turned off in a moment if she had done so, but she curtseyed and quietly said, ‘good day, Miss Bennet,’ which seemed to me so great a respect that it bolstered my courage.  _

_ Mr. Collins, who amongst his manifold faults, does not know when silence is the best course of action, disjointedly tried to tell me that I ought to be ashamed of myself-- an unwed young woman without family, connections or fortune to dare to speak so to a landed gentleman such as he...I cut him off before he could finish and drew on my gloves.  _

_ I informed him, as one who had lived my whole life in the presence of a man  _ _ born _ _ a gentleman, that he was precisely the sort of oafish boor that would eat his peas from a knife and that he could inherit a hundred estates but he would never,  _ _ ever _ _ be a gentleman. I then deliberately neglected to curtsey and turned and left that house-- in the hope that I will never return to it.  _

_ If I have regret, it is that I have denied myself one of my greatest pleasures. I have long loved to play the pianoforte, these last months without being able to put into order the notes with my fingers have been difficult. I miss the soothing process of taking the notes from the page and correctly matching them up with the correct keys. I missed it enough that I was willing to swallow the indignity of Mrs. Collins’ charitable offer but I can better endure the absence of music than suffer the presence of Lizzy’s cast off suitor.  _

_ Yours faithfully,  _

_ Miss Mary Bennet _

Darcy lowered the closely written page. It was the last of them to be read in the packet he had received that month. Elizabeth’s letter had ended on so unhappy a note that he had been unsettled since he had finished it. It was not at all like her and he wished he knew the cause of her misery. If he were nearby, he could devise means by which to cheer her and find small pieces of happiness to bring her back to her usual light-hearted merriment. He did not at all like this distance between them, this powerless position of knowledge that he had inflicted upon himself. He had thought that it would be of great advantage, to read her letters and glean useful information from them--  _ so _ great an advantage, in fact, that it was almost unfair.

Elizabeth’s letter had begun in her usual delightful way, relating the mischief of her younger sisters with an amused affection that was contagious. She made him see them as she saw them, her love for them had coloured his own impressions of their letters to him and gradually, without him having given the matter any thought, he realised that he felt for them as he did Georgiana

Collins ought to be whipped. He found that as incensed as he was by the injury to Elizabeth’s pride, he was equally as annoyed by the hurt to Miss Mary’s dignity.  Darcy pursed his lips. Perhaps he could soothe some of the unhappiness away by means of a present. He was to return to London soon, doubtless, it would take very little effort and expense on his part to procure a small instrument to bring them happiness. Surely there must be some likely space within the cottage for Miss Mary to practice. He would write to Briggs and enquire if he had any means by which to find out the dimensions of some of the rooms.

Darcy reached for his pen. He could hear the soft sound of music, Georgiana was practising her harp again-- he must remember to praise her for her diligence in her quest for improvement. It would be so easy for her to rest on the laurels of her excellence. He glanced once more at Elizabeth’s letter and felt renewed pity at the close of it. She could not know how hard it was for him to read of her sadness and be unable to mend it for her-- her frank account of her new position in society made him wince. It would be so easily mended if she would marry him, there would be no one who would disparage Mrs. Darcy. If only he could be sure that she could be happy with him, he would have no hesitation in asking for her hand a second time.


	7. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October. Busy month! 
> 
> Sorry that it is later than I would have liked, life is still really full. 
> 
> Many thanks, once again, to all of you who are reading. :)

Darcy had expected that the relocation to London for the winter would bring his letters to him sooner that month. He visited Briggs to arrange for the little pianoforte he had ordered made to be delivered to Grending Cottage without his name attached to it, and at the same time asked if his letters had been sent on to Mr. Briggleswick yet.    
  
Briggs blandly replied that he hoped Mr. Darcy did not object but it had seemed like the most sensible name disguise available to him, given that his dear departed late mother had been a Lewick before she had married his father. No, Mr. Darcy’s letters had not arrived, and yes, they were certainly later in the month than usual-- would Mr. Darcy like him to make discreet enquiries as to the wellbeing of the young ladies at Grending or did he think that it was rather too soon to become needlessly alarmed.    
  
In the face of such a carefully posed question, Darcy had disclaimed. “No, no. That is not at all necessary-- I was not expecting that the letters would have arrived yet, merely that since I was here I would ask, to save the link boy from coming to Darcy House.”   
  
Briggs eyes twinkled but with an admirably straight face, he swiftly answered, “Ah, no of course not sir. I was not at all intending to imply that you had any undue enthusiasm for them, Mr. Darcy. The Miss Bennets, I gather, are of a lively disposition. I received an interesting note from Miss Lydia last month. A curious young lady, I am to suppose.”   
  
Darcy smiled a little, with greater fondness than he would have expected. “Yes, I believe Miss Lydia was encouraged to do so by Miss Mary and Miss Catherine. I gather that Mrs. Ingles was unaware of their plan. I hope you were not offended.”   
  
“Offended! Certainly not, Mr. Darcy. I hold that a certain measure of spirit is a very delightful thing in the young, particularly ones so unfortunate as to have lost their parents at such tender ages. I have not responded as yet. I shall send the letters on to you as soon as I receive them, sir, I cannot imagine that they will take much more than a few days. Good afternoon.”

Two weeks later, Darcy was beginning to worry. The month was well underway and yet still his letters had not come. His anxiety escalated until the boy employed by Briggs brought the parcel to the door, a note from the attorney enclosed.

_ Dear Sir,  _

_ As you see, the letters from Grending have at last arrived. I can see no difficulty with the post and have noted that there is one letter short this month. I trust that the letters contain no ill news. _

_ Briggs. _

There was a lurching feeling in Darcy’s stomach as he opened the brown paper parcel. He knew their handwriting well by now. Mrs. Ingles’ was present, as was Miss Bennets, Miss Lydia’s hand was easily distinguishable and yes-- the two remaining letters in the packet were evidently from the Misses Mary and Catherine. Disappointment flooded him.

  
Why had she not written? Had she found him out? Was that why there was no communication from her? Perhaps she had begun to suspect somehow during the writing of her last letter and that explained the tense tone in her letter end.    
  
He broke the seal of the note from Mrs. Ingles, anxious to find some explanation.   
  
_ Dear Sir, _

_ I regret that my report this month bears no good news. Miss Elizabeth has been quite dangerously ill these last weeks, I regret that I was not able to discern the extent of how unwell she was feeling sooner. Miss Kitty noted first that her sister had not at all been herself for a few days but when I questioned Miss Elizabeth on the matter, she disclaimed and convinced me that her little sister was fretting over nothing. I believed her and it was not until she returned from her morning walk with Miss Mary three days later, trembling and clearly very ill that I appreciated the extent to which she had concealed the truth of the matter. Her face was burning to the touch and Miss Jane and I ordered her immediately to bed.  _

_ I feel dreadfully for the sisters, they have barely left her side-- each of them diligently taking turns to relieve the others in a manner that is most touching. I do not believe that I have ever encountered so closely knit a family of sisters in all my years and experience. For all that the younger Miss Bennets have much to learn with regards to society and education, I find that there is much to value in the strength of their devotion. There is many a well-bred young lady with not half the heart that I have been privileged to see here at Grending Cottage. Were it not for the dire circumstances I should have been very well pleased in my discovery.  _ __   
__   
_ Miss Bennet and I sent for the apothecary four days after Miss Lizzy had been sent to bed, after a particularly troubling night when we thought we should lose her. I need hardly say that such a loss would have been felt very keenly by all who are acquainted with her.   _ __   
_   
_ __ The apothecary looked very grave when we explained the nature of his patient's complaint and after examining her, looked deeply concerned. He has known her since his first coming to Meryton and as with everyone, finds her a sweet and charming young woman. 

_ He appears to be a competent professional and has said that he believes that with careful nursing, she will live. You may imagine, sir, the very great relief we all felt at such an announcement.  _ __   
_   
_ __ I shall write again soon with further news and would ask for your prayers for her. 

_ Yours faithfully,  _

_ Verity Ingles. _

He could not directly reach for the next letter, he first had to remind himself to fill his lungs with air and once he had breathed deeply for some minutes, Darcy had to then fight off the rising heat of nausea that flooded him. His fingers shook and his brow felt damp. His thoughts did not come to him with any sense of coherence. It mattered not that Mrs. Ingles had related that the apothecary, a mere apothecary, believed that Elizabeth Bennet would live, it only mattered that she had nearly died and he had gone about his daily life entirely unaware of the peril that she was in. 

It took him a full fifteen minutes before he was able to reach for Miss Bennet's letter. She must have been in some distress, for of all the Miss Bennets-- her hand was was quite lovely in its clarity and elegance. Not so in this letter, it would seem. It was not quite a scrawl, but it certainly lacked some of the deliberate neatness that was typical of her.    
  
“She is alive,” Darcy said aloud, his voice a little cracked, “she is alive and she will live. She  _ must _ live.” He blinked to relieve his eyes of the stinging that had gathered in them, impeding his vision and turned them to her elder sister’s letter. 

_ Dear Sir, _

_ I hardly know what it is that I should write to you at present, it feels unnatural for me to be sat penning a letter when my dearest Lizzy has been so close to death. I know that I must do so, however, my monthly letters to you are not arduous to me and I would not have you feel that I find the task a burden, but this month has been the most dreadful I have ever lived.  _

_ Elizabeth came home with Mary from her morning walk, quite frighteningly white of face and her eyes unnaturally bright, Mrs. Ingles-- without whose wisdom I should have been unable to do without these last few days. _

_ She was put to bed and although I was concerned, I thought little of it until Mrs. Ingles related to me that she believed that Lizzy had been feeling unwell for some time and had concealed it from us. She grew steadily worse for days until Mrs. Ingles suggested that the apothecary should be sent for-- I went myself to fetch him, quite selfishly unable to permit my other sisters the relief of action, and have been quite terrified ever since that night that we should lose her. _ __   
_   
_ __ She was quite delirious with fever and called out all manner of things that made no sense. She thought I was Mama and Papa by turns and it quite broke my heart afresh to be unable to send for them, to tell her that Mama should be by presently and that she should soon feel much better. 

_ Forgive me, sir, I do not mean to cause you distress by relating this to you for surely you cannot have been in receipt of Lizzy's letters for these last five months without having formed some sort of fondness for her. She has a talent for coaxing a smile out of even the most crotchety people, which you cannot possibly be, and so I feel quite safe in declaring indifference to her to be impossible.  _

_ What should I do without Lizzy? What joy could be found in the everyday mundanities of life without her to point them out? How could I ever be brought to laugh at myself ever again, if  _ **_she_ ** _ were not by to lighten my heart?  _

_   
_ _ I had thought, last year, that I was acquainted with heartbreak-- that I knew all there was to know about sorrow that a young lady could know. I was in error, for then Mama and Papa died and my heart was laden with greater grief than I had previously believed could be borne. It was only Lizzy that made me believe that the hope of future happiness was possible. She seemed so determined to be glad that we were all together, and was so sweetly kind to us all that we believed it.  _

_ I cannot see how my heart can further endure anything more than this. It seems that I must sit with her every hour that I am not sleeping or else she will be snatched away from me when I am not by. Is this a great wickedness, I wonder? _

_ I am beset by fear. I am afraid that Mr. Lough, although an excellent man, may have missed something important, that his prediction that Elizabeth’s usual good health will assist her in rallying once again, is overly optimistic. I have suggested to Mrs. Ingles that a doctor be sent for and she has said that if Lizzy declines again, she would do so without hesitation. _

_ I was greatly moved by Lydia’s staunch declaration that she wished we would do so immediately, even if it meant that none of us had a new dress ever again. She has been greatly agitated by Elizabeth’s illness-- we have all been so reliant upon her, you see, it has been a great shock to realise how much she quietly does about the house to make it cheerful. _

_ I must close now, for I have been sent to rest by Mrs. Ingles and my eyes feel so heavy that I can hardly keep them open.  _ __   
_   
_ __ Elizabeth has prayed for you each night since we received Mr. Briggleswick’s first note-- I wonder sir if you might now do the same for her.

_ I remain, dear sir, _

_ Jane Bennet. _

It took him a good deal of self-restraint to refrain from ordering his horse immediately. He compromised by giving immediate order to Briggs that Doctor Hammond, who was a well known and eminent physician, was to be conveyed to Meryton as soon as was possible. He informed Briggs that once Hammond had returned from thence, he desired a report to be dispatched to him with the particulars of Miss Elizabeth Bennet's condition. He  _ could _ not ride to Grending himself, he  _ knew _ that he could not, it would ruin the whole and if he knew anything about the Bennets, it was that their pride, once pricked, would lead them to suffer in poverty rather than accept a single penny of his.

He went about his London house looking grim until he received the doctors report a few days later from Briggs that Miss Elizabeth was indeed out of danger but he had instructed that she must on no account overexert herself during her convalescence.

Mr. Darcy even went so far as to begin a letter in return to the ones she sent him one night, after having been plagued with dreams of her death.

_ Dearest, Ever Dearest, Elizabeth, _

_ I write Madam, knowing full well that come the morning, my courage will desert me and this letter will be confined to the fire. It will burn hot for an instant and then be gone, I, only I, will know of the foolishness contained therein.  _

__   
_ You have written of your loneliness, Elizabeth, that it frustrates you to be forever writing letters to me and receiving no reply. You cannot think, my love, how often I have reached for paper to respond to some thought in your monthly letter only to shake my head at myself, knowing that I must not. It is a frustration of my own making and well I know it.  _ __   
_   
_ __ Had you married me, Elizabeth, I should have made it my mission in life that you should never feel such loneliness again.

He laid down his pen and tossed the letter into the fire, as he had known all along that he would.

When her first letter of the month arrived, brief and weakly written, he had sighed audibly with relief. To receive something in her own hand and not have to rely upon the reports of others reassured him more than anything else had that she would be well. With his relief came a fit of surprising anger, directed towards  _ her _ , that she should so conceal how ill she had been to him. It frustrated him, that he must rely on her brief note to gauge how she was. Why must she make a joke of something that had shaken him to the core? He had not even smiled when he read her humorous description of Miss Mary’s reading to her-- he knew how desperately worried they had all been. 

  
For some days, Darcy had been quite unable to settle readily to any task. He wished heartily that he might ride to Meryton and ensure-- by whatever means necessary, that she should take her health seriously. All he could do was to arrange for iced buns to be delivered to the cottage-- perhaps it might convince Elizabeth that he read her letters with diligence and that her Nameless Stranger cared for her. It was not enough to settle his mind, he wished to do more.   
  
It was a relief, in a way, to receive her third letter, because it gave him reason enough to act. If Wickham had broken into Grending Cottage, it was with no honest deed in mind and he would ensure that he faced the consequences.    
  
He rode to the barracks in Meryton and with quiet authority had ensured that Colonel Forster was aware of the nature of Mr. Wickham. He prevailed upon the man to investigate further into his financial dealings and ruthlessly brought up the subject of his Uncle, the judge-- who would be very anxious to hear that justice was carried out with regards to this man. He saw the cottage, her home, from a distance, but did not ride by it, confining himself to the military quarters in which the regiment had been stationed for nigh on a year. They were packing up their things and a great deal of activity was going on. If he both hoped and dreaded to catch a glimpse of  _ her _ , he did not admit as much to himself. No, he pulled his wide-brimmed hat low and pulled up the collar of his greatcoat so as to avoid recognition and departed as anonymously as he had come.    
  
She would never know. She must never know. If the opportunity came, as he hoped it would, when Bingley returned to Netherfield, she must on no account feel gratitude or indebtedness to him. Her letters may have implied regret in her error with regards to his character but there was no indication that she regretted him. 

He called on Bingley, on the same day he arrived back in London, unsure if his old friend would even allow him entry given the nature of his last, confessional letter at the beginning of May. Bingley had never been a particularly reliable correspondent, often preferring to receive letters than to write them. 

The young man stretched out his hand, a wide smile on his face when he saw his old friend standing in the vestibule and Darcy knew that he was forgiven. Bingley did not hold grudges for long, not even when he had every right to.    
  
“Darcy! How glad I am to see you. How do you do?”

He was easily persuaded to return to Netherfield, he had been thinking of going for this last month, he said, but Caroline had proved resistant to the scheme. 

“It will be easy enough now though, Darcy, for she has been invited to Brighton with the Fairwater’s--she and the Honourable Miss Penelope get on well enough and she has quite decided that she will go. Louisa says she and Hurst will come along with me-- shall you come too, old fellow? It will be jolly to reacquaint ourselves with our old neighbours again.”

His eager face had fallen when Darcy had related the news of the Bennets deaths. 

“But how can you have known this, Darcy? Oh...yes of course-- Lady Catherine. The heir was her parson was he not? I am sorry for it, the Miss Bennets must have been so very shocked and unhappy. How dreadful, had I been at Netherfield I might have...well no...I suppose that wouldn’t have been quite the thing.” 


	8. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several author notes to make. 
> 
> a) I am REALLY REALLY sorry that you have all had to wait for so long for this chapter. There are reasons though.   
>  i) Our dog died, it was not entirely unexpected--she was an old thing but still, it hit us hard and I didn't feel quite emotionally able to sit down and be creative.   
>  ii) I was struck with a vicious cold which when combined with iii) left me energyless  
>  iii) I am in the early stages of pregnancy (YAY!) which means that by evening I have been a bit wiped out. 
> 
> There! My plethora of feeble excuses is done and you can see that there isn't anything on the list that will prevent me from updating regularly on a long term basis, so hopefully, I can get back to a normal writing schedule. 
> 
> b) Thank you so much for your kind messages/ emails to encourage me back to it, its a nice warming feeling to know that there are people I have never met who care if I never came back. :) 
> 
> c) I have referenced a Miss Sarah Biffin at the beginning of this chapter. I read about her in a fascinating blog post written by Sarah Murden about disability in the eighteenth century.
> 
> https://georgianera.wordpress.com/2019/01/31/disability-in-the-eighteenth-century/
> 
>  
> 
> It is worth a read!
> 
> d) The wait for the next chapter ought to be much shorter as I have much of it written-- I brain dumped it before I wrote November so it just needs a poke here and there and a polish. 
> 
> Sorry about the essay at the beginning here! :)

_ Dear Sir,  _

_ This is the second letter that I have written to you, the first was cast into the hot, destructive fire after Lydia looked over my shoulder and told me, in the most brutal way, that it was unreadable. I was telling Mrs. Ingles of the summer fair that was had last year, which Mama took us to. There was a lady there who had no arms at all and did everything very ably with her toes. Apparently, before making her fortune from being a public spectacle, she was used to cutting out watch papers for a living-- just as neatly as you or I could do!  _ __   
_   
_ __ Mrs. Ingles said that it was incredible how adaptable we females are and I believe that she is right. Only last month, Lizzy was lying in her bed, death waiting to pounce on her like a crouched fox in the shadowy eaves, and we thought she should never get up again, yet this evening she descended the stairs in her nightgown and slippers and sat with us for our evening meal. We closed the shutters, of course, so that no one passing by on the street should be shocked, but we had a jolly old time for Lydia suggested that we should all do so and have a dinner party in our nightwear. Jane did not quite see that Lydia was only funning, for she said quite seriously that Lydia was a dear sweet girl for having thought how to spare Lizzy any uneasiness and ushered us all upstairs to dress for bed, yet not for bed but for dinner. 

_ Mrs. Ingles, who has the strangest way of looking quite stern when I think she is secretly amused, said firmly that she should remain fully dressed in the event of the door being knocked.  _

_ Lizzy laughed at us when she came down and saw us all. I am glad to hear her laughter, it disperses gloom faster than anything else and seems to bring light and colour to anyone who hears it. We may have looked like we were all attired in black these past six months, but laughter, I think, changes inky velvet into the gayest of primrose gowns. _

_ At any rate, I attempted to write this letter with my toes, but alas I do not think I am so accomplished as the fair Miss Biffin for in truth it did look a dreadful mess. _

_ Talent is an oddity. Why is it that some females excel at almost everything and others seem to struggle on through life with mere competency? And then, there are some girls who are brilliant at one thing but fail to take any pleasure in it because they want to be accomplished in something else.  _ __   
__   
_ Take Lydia for example, she hates to pick up her quill and write. She tells me that the words never seem to flow from her hand so well as they do from her mouth, that it takes a hundred times more concentration for her to write a short paragraph than it does to speak it. Yet she has such a genius for patterns! If Lydia sees a dress in the window of a shop that she admires, she stares at it for some time and then can quite easily put the pattern of it down onto paper for cutting out. If we owned enough bolts of fabric, we should be quite the best-dressed family in Hertfordshire, for there is nothing she loves better than to cut out the pieces of a dress and hand them over to us for stitching together. She has taken charge of bringing us out of blacks and we are none of us worried that she will do an ill job of it.  _ __   
_   
_ __ I have come to my room to write this next part in private, for I do not want my sisters to know of it-- nor even Mrs. Ingles. There is a very poor family, by the name of Evans, who live in a dwelling on the borders between Netherfield and Longbourn. Papa took responsibility for the state of the house when he was alive but Mr. Collins vows that he will not. He told Mariah Lucas’ papa, within her hearing, that there being no sons to work the farm once Mr. Evans dies, he does not see that it will benefit the estate to maintain it. Mrs. Evans is ill and the weather is turning cold. Bessie and I have taken them food when we have been able, but each time I see her, I think that Mrs. Evans grows closer and closer to defeat. The light in her eyes seems a little dimmer as the weeks go on and I do not know that the daughters will survive if something is not done? 

_ Might you do something for them? I am all of a fret-- no one here with any money wishes to offend Mr. Collins, and although I would quite willingly, I lack the funds to do anything, even if I knew what ought to be done. If I were to marry, I should repay you as soon as I was able to, but not everyone has a guardian angel as we do. Mr. Collins is a beastly man, he makes me wish there was some cunning plot I could devise to deliver to him his comeuppance. _

_ Yours,  _

_ Kitty Bennet _

Darcy, as was his habit after reading one of Miss Catherine’s letters, blinked before setting it down. Mrs. Ingles had reported that month that she had been at some pains to teach Miss Catherine the proper forms of communication. It seemed that she had been partially successful for at least there was some measure of context present where it was important. 

As much as he disapproved of a young lady under his unofficial guardianship calling anyone ‘beastly’, he did not immediately issue a shocked note to Miss Catherine’s companion, urging correction. For one, Miss Mary’s strictures to the same gentleman had been far more cutting and had gone unreproved and secondly, he rather found himself approving of the compassion in Miss Kitty that had provoked her unladylike ire. 

Here was a young woman who had lost her childhood home and her parents in one blow, almost lost her beloved sister more recently and yet possessed within her the heart to feel compassion for those even less well off. He would surely investigate the Evans situation when he arrived at Netherfield. They were not in his jurisdiction, but perhaps he might offer them something better elsewhere. It was the responsibility of every man who called himself a gentleman to take care of those in need of charity. It was the difficulty, he had often observed when a position of privilege was come into suddenly, without the years of training ahead of it to see to all one's responsibilities and not merely be content with being a rich man. 

Dealing with Collins would be less than straightforward but given the callous nature of the fellow, Darcy was willing to give the matter thought. It would save him from going mad in the time that he must wait to see Elizabeth.    


_ Her _ letters were ever a joy to read, but a strange kind of torture seemed to grasp hold of him when he opened them these days. It was not enough to read her words on a page, not enough to see her increasingly steady hand and bask in it. Darcy wanted to see her face again, to hear her sweet voice and see if he could not convince her to love him.    
  
Those great advantages of his, that he had so casually leaned on in April, secure that they were enough, were not enough to tempt her. He must show himself to be a good man and a worthy one. His ten thousand pounds a year, Pemberley, his impeccable lineage-- they were not enough. He must prove to her that he was a man of character and win her. 

His heart had fallen when he read her letter at the end of November. 

_ ‘I do not wish to encounter Mr. Darcy again.’ _

He was bitterly disappointed and left his desk when he had read that, to pace about his room in a spate of frustrated hopes. With each agitated circuit he made of the richly carpeted floor, he by turns declared to himself that he did not need to torment himself by reading any further and surely could not be expected to. He would cease and read no more. He did not need to read her letters after all-- Mrs. Ingles would write to him if there were anything amiss with her, if there were any way that he could serve her and none of the Bennets actually needed him to read them, did they?

He paused and returned to his desk. He must read on, however much it pained him. 

Relief, cool and pleasantly refreshing, washed over him when he read of the reason she did not want to see him. She had believed him in his defence and was ashamed of the unfounded accusations she had made.

Darcy felt hope rise up within him and cautiously attempted to press it down. Acknowledging that he was not a villain was not at all the same thing as wanting a renewal of his addresses. Regretting their argument did not at all mean that she regretted  _ him _ .

He yearned to see her again, the day of their departure could not come soon enough, but he must at least wait for Bingley to give the word that his sister was safely delivered to Brighton and knowing Bingley there would be several delays. No, the most he could do was to have his household in readiness to depart as soon as Bingley scrawled a note to him. 

He read Elizabeth’s letter, again and again, each time feeling that cautious hope warming his chest. It was not the only source of warmth, Miss Lydia’s November letter had made him smile with a brotherly tenderness.    
  
Elizabeth had lightly referenced that her youngest sister’s letter would be full of lavender fabric and she was quite right, it was. Yet, what she could not have known was that however excited Miss Lydia was to be coming out of full blacks, there was a great sweetness in the way she was taking charge of the matter. 

_ You canot fathom, sir, how dificult it is to fit a family of dreses into one bolt of fabric. It is a very fine weeve and I have chosen it with great care so that the shade does not ill suit any one of us. In that I declare my triumph. Even Mary and Lizzy, whose complexsions are more dificult to put certian colors beside looked very well beside the lavendar. I have redrawn the patterns six times already so that nothing is waisted. I should have liked a fuller dress for myself but that would have left Kitty a little short on the hem or Jane too short in the sleeve. It is well, it is a sacrifise to be shure but at least we shall all look better than we have theese last months. Mrs. Ingles says I am very very talented, which I knew alreddy but she said it very nicely and sonded as thowgh she meant it so I was very tutched.  _

Only a fool would see such a letter and think the writer a silly, vain girl with only finery in her head. Miss Lydia Bennet had quite clearly been making use of her talents so that not one of her sisters was left out when they all put off their blacks. He wished he might take her to a shop, pat her hand and tell her to choose another two bolts. He smiled then, at such a thought. Miss Lydia, given such an offer, would wheedle the promise of another three bolts out of him at the very least, she was a young lady with a knack for getting her own way. Strangely, he did not find so much fault in her as he once did. Perhaps Mrs. Ingles’ perspective on the Bennets had softened him, perhaps it was the months of reading their own words that had done so, it hardly mattered how but it was plain that he had his own shame to bear for his words in April. Flighty and undisciplined the youngest Miss Bennets may have been, but once he knew their characters better he plainly saw their virtues as well as their faults.

  
  
  



	9. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves-- monster size chapter alert. Grab a cuppa and a ginger biscuit. :) Thank you for all your lovely kindness.

 

Georgiana had been glad of her brother’s gentle invitation to accompany her brother for the winter and they arrived at Netherfield on the twenty-eighth day of November in good spirits. The roads between London and Hertford had been easily traversed and the smaller lanes that led to Meryton were well enough that the journey as a whole had not been overly arduous. 

Miss Darcy was too conscious of herself to press her nose to the glass of the carriage as they passed through the town but looked out with a very lively curiosity and asked her brother a great many questions until they reached the long, sweeping driveway that led to Netherfield Park. Bingley had met them at the front door, with the Hursts, and was quite beaming with pleasure.    
  
“Darcy!  _ Miss _ Darcy! How splendid a day this is. We are only just arrived ourselves  yesterday afternoon--one of the leaders suffered a sprain and we were obliged to wait for new horses, you know.”

Mr. Hurst, attributing Miss Darcy’s suddenly anxious demeanour to sympathy, helpfully interjected that she must not be in a fret, the injured animal was merely one of the chestnuts and  _ not _ Mr. Bingley’s matched greys.    
  
Bingley laughed in his affable way and agreed that he  _ should _ have been rather more upset if it had been the greys, of course, but Miss Darcy need not be worrying about such things. Louisa would surely show her to her room and they should all make themselves comfortable before a light refreshment was served. 

Mrs. Hurst did so, and being of a rather less forceful nature than her younger sister, saw quickly that too much solicitude made Miss Darcy more uncomfortable, rather than less and swiftly exited the room. 

The party reconvened half an hour later and the travellers revived themselves with hot tea and little pastries. Georgiana sat between Darcy and Mr. Hurst and said very little. Only summoning up the courage to pass an occasional remark directly to the affable Mr. Bingley and her brother.   


She grew a little less reticent, as the days went on and Darcy was relieved to see it. Mrs. Hurst appeared to know instinctively when not to cajole the young Miss Darcy into a conversation and thus he was willing to leave her for an hour or two when he went out to shoot pheasants with his old friend.

Sunday came and Darcy, knowing that it was a certainty that he would see Elizabeth there, even if he was unable to speak to her. It was a fortunate thing for him, that there was Georgiana’s comfort to be seen to which distracted him from looking about him too obviously for her.    


He located them, five slim figures sharing a pew and the tall frame of Mrs. Ingles in sober grey. They were not where they had always sat last year. That previously crowded box was occupied by only Mr. Collins and his wife. The former of whom had clearly not shaken off all of his obsequious tendencies and was even now bowing as best he could from his seat in their general direction. Darcy absolutely refused to acknowledge the man.    
  
He wondered if it was a wrench for the ladies of Grending, to have to vacate the place where they had always sat, each Sunday morning, since before even they could remember. Miss Mary had written to him of the historical significance of the building-- a sixteenth-century edifice that had seen very little modernisation within the last fifty years or so. She at least was very attached to the place and wrote with subdued affection of the Reverend Grending and his wife. 

As much as he disliked the thought of any of them suffering the humiliation associated with being barred from the gated Longbourn pew-- he owned that he could see them rather better from his current vantage point. He lacked Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth’s discipline, their eyes remained steadily forward throughout whereas his attention was far too frequently absent from Mr. Grending’s sermon. 

He was a little comforted to note that Bingley suffered the same malady, his friend having to often turn his attention back to his prayer book when Mrs. Hurst nudged him. At least Georgiana was too intent on feeling timid to note that her brother was staring earnestly at a young lady. 

Both Darcy and Bingley were disappointed but not altogether surprised when after the service, they were too inundated with old friends and acquaintances to have any opportunity to speak to the Miss Bennets. Darcy saw them standing together, a little way off and if he fleetingly thought that Miss Elizabeth had been looking at him whenever he chanced to look away from her, he had no evidence to support such a hope. He recollected himself and tried to make sure Georgiana was as comfortable as she was able to be in such a crowd of unknown people and resigned himself with a sigh when he saw Mrs. Ingles shepherd his Miss Bennets out from the churchyard. Elizabeth took her eldest sister’s arm, he observed with a frown-- he hoped it was to support Miss Bennet’s spirits rather than to aid her steps. She seemed well enough, from a distance at least. He would have to find opportunity at a later time to look at her more closely and see if she was indeed fully recovered.

Bingley was restless that Sunday afternoon and not any of Darcy’s suggestions could hold his attention for longer than five minutes. The following week was spent receiving and returning the calls of old acquaintances, and if Bingley's cheerful sociable nature seemed a little forced, Darcy was too impatient by halfway through December himself to comment on it. 

One visit, however, marginally alleviated the frustration of waiting for him. He had been to Lucas Lodge before, of course, and followed the butler, along with Bingley to make his bow to Sir William and Lady Lucas. They began with the news that had been missed while the gentlemen from Netherfield had been away and civilly exchanged murmurs of dismay when hearing of the Bennets. Bingley asked after the Miss Bennets and their living arrangements. 

“But of course, they must be well enough supported by Mr. Collins-- except I noted that they were not sat together at Church…”

“Oh yes, yes  _ indeed _ Mr. Bingley, sir! The Miss Bennets have been well taken care of. They have a little cottage in Meryton and a companion, a very good woman I believe. Our son in law has conducted himself like a gentleman, has he not, my love?”

Lady Lucas nodded vigorously, “Oh yes! I could not account for it at first, why they should not have remained at Longbourn, but I quite see that it might have been excessively awkward for them. Mr. Collins found them such a dear little home amongst their friends in Meryton that I can quite see that it was the correct course of action! He is a modest man however and said that we must not mention it abroad. Ah! Look Sir William, it is dear Mr. Collins and Charlotte come to visit us!”

Mr. Darcy, who had sat in seething, astonished silence at hearing that Mr. Collins, _beastly_ _Mr. Collins_ , had taken the credit with his in-laws for his own deeds, fixed the man with a scornful stare as the fool stepped forward to bow to him.

Bingley looked at his friend quizzically when he saw that he was not going to stand to greet the man, but a glance at the cold fury in Darcy’s eyes gave him pause and he checked himself.    
  
Mr. Collins did not notice the snub and bowed low before the nephew of his erstwhile benefactress, before launching into a very stupid speech about the magnificence of her advice and her generosity in dispensing it. 

Darcy, cut him off and addressed his host.   
  
“Sir William, my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh is in the habit of writing to me often and she informed me some time ago that she had advised Mr. Collins to utterly cast the Miss Bennets off. I have further been informed by more recent letters that he has certainly done so.  I have no desire to speak to either a liar or a scoundrel, one of which he certainly is but I should wonder which it is, if only in the interests of honesty.” Mr. Darcy stood now, and looked down at the man who dared to call himself a gentleman, “Which is it, Mr. Collins? Have you falsely led my Aunt to believe that you have followed her advice, or have you indeed left gently bred young ladies to fend for themselves as best they could?”

Mr. Collins still half stooped from his bow, twisted his neck to look up at Mr. Darcy. His skin, never a glowing sign of good health, had taken on a hue that was very like the colour of parchment, his brow was damp and his eyes wide. His mouth gaped open several times and shut again in equal number. He was quite caught out and he knew it. He had before him two choices, to expose himself before his wife’s family or to lower himself in the eyes of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, who possessed rank and privilege far greater than he could dream of.    
  
Long habit prevailed, he would not have the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh think that he had lied to so great a lady.    
  
“I...Naturally, I being so  _ new _ to the position of a landed gentleman, felt that her Ladyship's advice must, of course, be a  _ priority _ to heed, sir. You may depend upon it that I wrote to my cousins  _ immediately  _ once I returned to the parsonage after my interview with your noble aunt and informed them in the  _ clearest  _ of terms that they ought to expect nothing from me once I took possession of the estate and may I say, sir that her Ladyship's advice was  _ most _ sensible. There was not the slightest need to burden the estate with their upkeep-- they have managed perfectly well, even beyond that which is  _ seemly _ for their lowered position and as such I feel that  _ all _ has worked out for the best.”

Bingley was not a slow man, for all he lacked some of Darcy’s quickness of intellect. The friendly, pleasant expression on his face cooled to something like disgust and he saw Lady Lucas turn with wide eyes and raised eyebrows to her daughter. Mrs. Collins nodded and offered a half shrug in answer. Lady Lucas recoiled and could not contain herself.    
  
“But the Bennets were long-standing friends of ours! I cannot, I will not allow such a thing to go unreproved. You have behaved very badly Mr. Collins! Sir William, surely you must see that this is not at all  _ right!  _ Why, if we had known we might surely have helped them in someway-- Mrs. Bennet and I called on each other very frequently after all...I am sure I should have wished to be of some assistance to her girls if I had thought they were in such a terrible position! I am very upset by it.”   
  
Sir William, looking graver than was his usual wont, crossed the room to pat his wife’s hand. “You are quite right my dear, quite right. Mr. Collins-- you must leave. No, do not say another word, I am quite mortified that a relative of ours, even by marriage, should have behaved in such a way. Charlotte is our daughter of course so I shall not bar her from her childhood home but you sir, you have not at all comported yourself as a gentleman ought.”   
  
Panicked, Mr. Collins gaped again and turned to Lady Catherine’s nephew for support-- he had the distinct impression that he was missing some vital piece of information. Mr. Darcy was regarding him with derision-- yes, it was very plainly derision. When he spoke, it was quiet but with an inexorable icy edge of contempt that caused every word to cut deeply.    
  
“You have not even comported yourself as a  _ parson _ ought, have you, Mr. Collins?” 

With that, Mr. Collins-- thoroughly confused and bewildered by the drastic change in his favour, turned and departed through the door he had so recently entered through. Lady Lucas was speaking in low, disappointed tones to his wife and she followed him silently through the door. 

The gentlemen returned to Netherfield, Bingley disliking very much to dwell on unpleasant scenes such as the one earlier-- made a concerted effort to avoid the topic completely, speaking instead of the likelihood of them seeing much sport when the rain finally eased off.

Finally, after many days of rain, the sunshine broke through and Bingley had had enough. He remarked to the company at large as they finished their breakfast that they must all of them go out while the rain held off.

  
“I say, I should like to take a ride into town again, I haven’t yet seen any of our neighbours in the area. Would any of you like to join me? Darcy? Do say you will, for I know you cannot have liked being cooped up inside the house for so long, why, we’ve not been on a ride these three days!”   
  
Darcy turned to his sister and bent his head to her, “well my dear, should you like to go? I daresay a fitting animal can be found for you to ride in Bingley’s stable.”    
  
She smiled a little and nodded, “I should like to go, sir-- I have not seen anything of the county save that which we saw on the way and when we have gone to church. Meryton is a sizeable town, is it not?”

Bingley answered her, beaming now that his scheme seemed to well received, “Oh aye-- it can boast of a high street with any number of shops-- there is a butcher, baker, general store, what else? Do you know I cannot recall them all, but you shall see them by and by if we are to ride out.”

“There is, in addition, a haberdasher, a milliner, a cobbler and two bookshops,” added her brother quietly.

Bingley stared at him, a half-smile of confusion making him look younger than his years. “What an observant fellow you are, Darcy-- I declare, I had not noticed the half of them when we were all here last year!”

Shifting a little in his seat and feeling foolish at having betrayed too much knowledge of the town, Darcy responded that he could hardly help but look about a place when he is staying in an area for so many months. 

Bingley laughed ruefully, “I should rather look at the  _ people _ myself, I do not often notice practical things such as the geography or historical significance of a place-- but I  _ would _ lay you a wager, Darcy, that I can remember more of the names of the families in the neighbourhood than you!”    


His sober friend, quite unable to resist the opportunity, replied, “I think not, Bingley. I will ride beside you on the way into town and demonstrate that my memory does not merely extend to the practicalities of shopping. You may sell me those chestnuts of yours if I prove myself to your satisfaction.”   
  
It was not perhaps, fair, he thought, as they rode at a sedate pace into town. Bingley did not have the advantage that he did, of having received letters peppered with tidbits of information about Meryton, but he enjoyed evoking the astonishment of his old friend.  
  
“Now, I say Darcy-- how can you have known that the fishmonger was called _Somerhill_? I vow you _cannot_ have gone in there last year!”   


Darcy remained maddeningly stoic and wore his air of mystery like the mantle of a king.

“Mrs. Long is attempting to catch your eye, Bingley-- do nod to her, also, if you look a little to your left, you will see that Miss Bennet has just stepped out of Mannings.”   
  
He stopped finding it amusing when the bemused smile fled from his friend's face and he quickly turned and searched out Jane Bennet’s lovely face. He felt worse when she noted her erstwhile suitor and turned white before self-consciously straightening her lavender bonnet and turning to the tall lady beside her. It seemed that they were to exit the store and move on down the street. 

Bingley, whatever his faults, was not a cowardly man and he called out impetuously, “Miss Bennet!” as he dismounted from his horse. With the eagerness that so characterised him, Bingley led the animal over to the steps of the shop and quite barricaded the young lady in and her companion in. Darcy got off his horse more sedately and, feeling quite protective of her peace of mind, attempted to draw Bingley back a little so that she could flee if she wished to.    
  
She did not, apparently, desire to make her escape. When Mr. Bingley bowed deeply and declared himself to be quite,  _ quite _ delighted to see her again, she curtseyed with admirable composure and very civilly introduced their companion and chaperone, Mrs. Ingles.

That lady favoured Mr. Bingley with a stare that would have made him falter, had he only been looking at her. Darcy wondered what Lydia had told her about Bingley, it would almost certainly be Lydia if anyone. 

Miss Bennet was pleased to be reintroduced to Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, the latter of whom enquired as to the reason for her black armband and sober gown.    
  
Jane Bennet did not so much as flinch when she serenely replied that she and her sisters had been so unfortunate as to have been bereft of both of their parents earlier in the year. It was Darcy who spoke for the party.

“We are very sorry to hear of it, Miss Bennet. We should like to pass on our condolences to your sisters also-- might we call upon you all?”

  
Bingley, with heartfelt warmth and sympathy, joined him in such a wish.   
  
“You are very kind, sirs. We are currently residing at Grending Cottage-- it is not so far from here. You would be welcome to walk back with us and have tea if you would like. My sister Lizzy has been unwell-- so has sorely felt the want of company.”   
  
A rapid exchange was made between the Netherfield residence and it was agreed that the groom should wait with the horses and water them, while they all walked together to Grending Cottage. 

Bingley immediately offered Miss Bennet his arm, and Darcy, who had been watching Mrs Ingles, saw the moment the older lady noted that her pretty charge was  _ quite _ willing to be in company with the young man who had such a ready smile. Seeing that Mrs. Hurst was making a kindly effort to engage Georgiana, Darcy dropped back behind the others in the party and-- catching Mrs. Ingles eye, invited her to walk with him. They lagged behind a little way.

“I thank you for the note you sent me, sir. It says much good of you that you would think of such a thing as their embarrassment, should their private arrangements become known. I shall of course not mention anything.”

“The point, Mrs. Ingles, was always to ease their burden-- not to add to it. Tell me, how is she? Miss Elizabeth, I mean. She does not, in her letters, dwell on her health but Miss Bennet is still concerned I infer.”   
  
Mrs. Ingles, clearly catching something in his tone that made her look at him quickly, gave a terse nod. “Yes, sir-- she  _ will _ make light of important things, will Miss Lizzy-- forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. It is part of her charm but comes with its own set of difficulties. Miss Bennet is of a maternal disposition, I don’t say her worry is entirely unwarranted, but she is prone to fretting.” The sharp-eyed lady gave a nod in his friend's direction, “that might change, though, if she has something else to occupy her thoughts.”   
  
“You are very astute, Mrs. Ingles.”   
  
“Oh yes, it pays to be, when you’ve charge of a family of young ladies. Young Mr. Bingley there-- that’s a mystery solved. A puzzle piece that has fallen into place. By my reckoning, Miss Bennet will find a bit more of that girlish laughter that has been so missing in her. It was only Miss Lizzy that could bring about a giggle in her sister since I’ve been with them but...well now, we shall see.” They walked some strides further before the lady continued, “Miss Elizabeth is returning to strength sir, her spirits never did take much of a battering, which I am thankful for and with those spirits comes a stronger body. She has been haranguing Miss Mary about resuming their morning walks again, but Miss Mary said quite straightly that she would not until Miss Jane and I myself gave permission to.”   
  
With a hint of fond laughter in his voice, Darcy enquired as to how Miss Elizabeth had taken such a restriction.    


The companion huffed, “not so well sir, all told-- but she's a charming girl, as I have said, and she could persuade a mother hen to hand over her chicks if she set her mind to it, so I’ve no doubt that Miss Jane and I will relent soon enough. I suppose since you are to remain at Netherfield that it would make more sense for me to pass any correspondence directly on to you, sir?” At his nod she did likewise and seemed pleased,  “I will make an arrangement for the Post Office to hold the parcels unless I myself happen to see you in town. Here we are then.” 

They had reached the little cottage that Elizabeth now called home and Darcy’s heart beat a little faster in the knowledge that he would  _ see _ her, would  _ speak _ to her imminently. How would she react upon seeing him? It was not likely that her eyes would shine in the way Miss Bennet’s had upon sight of his friend, but if she would only permit him to talk to her-- he felt sure that he might be able to show her that his manners, which she had found so lacking, could be improved.    
  
The cottage door opened and they heard a surprisingly loud babble of voices, including Elizabeth’s voice carrying over the others, ‘No Lydia, if you are to lever it out  _ properly _ , you must hold it nearer the end of the handle!’ A heavy clunk was heard and Miss Mary and Miss Kitty spoke at the same time.

“I should have liked to try my hand at picking the lock-- I believe I should have shown that I have the patience for it. Not that I hold with breaking into places that ought not to be got into.”   
  
Kitty tutted, “It isn’t any  _ use _ you trying now, Mary for all of Lizzy’s pins are far too bent to make the attempt, at any rate, I  _ really _ don’t see...oh dear.”

Miss Catherine Bennet, had apparently observed the front door open and stepped back from her sisters. Darcy, barred from seeing all the way in by the doorpost, looked to Mrs. Ingles and saw her lips tighten.    


Miss Mary moved a little out of the way and revealed to his hungry gaze a startled Elizabeth, clutching a long flat piece of iron in her hand and her hair unbound and wild about her shoulders. 

Their eyes met and they both of them blushed. Darcy, because he had not expected, of all scenarios, that he would see her  _ thus-- _ he presumed that  _ she _ was embarrassed at having been caught doing...whatever it was that they had been attempting in that dark little corner. No doubt he would find out in one of the letters at the end of the month. He would look forward to that.

The silence was quite dreadful. He wished heartily, that he was the type of man that knew how to diffuse such an awkward meeting. It seemed that nobody knew what to say. Georgiana turned her head to look at him beseechingly, never at ease in an unusual place but he just shrugged a little and gave her a stiff nod of comfort.    
  
Bingley, that good-hearted man, stepped forward and with a wide smile-- said something appropriate and Darcy relaxed. Elizabeth had edged to the back of the room, her sisters standing like a wall before her. Her hand was tucked awkwardly behind her back and when Mrs. Ingles directed the party to take tea in the little parlour, she turned and slipped through the panelled door behind her. 

Darcy wanted to follow her, he wanted to go wherever she was going and have one or two minutes of quiet conversation and ask her if she minded very much that he was there. Perhaps he might have asked if she still hated him, if she still thought him ungentlemanly and if,  _ if _ , his letter to her had begun to make her think better of him.    
  
He did not. He turned to Georgiana and led her, after the others, through to the little room that Mrs. Ingles had indicated. 

Bingley took charge of the situation and addressed the room at large. 

“I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you all once again, it has been an age since I last saw you, at Netherfield. I must say though, that I had forgotten above half of the dear little shops in town-- Darcy remembered nearly all of them though. I say! Darcy! You have reminded me very much of that fellow from Cambridge, Twitch we used to call him, he had a memory like nothing I have ever encountered! He could glance at a page in a book and then he would never forget it again, frightfully clever was old Twitch. What was his real name, Darcy? You  _ must _ remember him, tall chap-- from Scotland?”   
  
Darcy almost smiled, Miss Lydia was staring hard at Louisa Hurst’s pelisse-- he wondered which Miss Bennet would be fortunate enough to favour the design as soon as she got hold of the right roll of fabric. It was a pity he could not openly encourage her gift.    
  
“Fergus Hartwich, Bingley. He made us all look like very dull fellows.”   
  
“Why was he called ‘Twitch’?” enquired a curious Miss Catherine, darting a look to Mrs. Ingles for approval.    
  
“Oh,” said Bingley, merrily-- he had a tick in his cheek that was set off whenever one of the boys riled him too much. He used to be called all sorts you know, on account of his being so very tall. Eventually, his friends noticed that his cheek would twitch just before he hopped up from his desk to give his tormenter a sound thrashing and--well, yes. I beg your pardon Madam, perhaps I ought not to have said that. I do apologise ladies.”    
  
Mrs. Ingles nodded, less shocked than one might have supposed a chaperone could be and Lydia assured Mr. Bingley that she was not in the least offended. Miss Bennet interjected in a smooth, even tone and steered the conversation. “He sounds like an interesting man, I cannot imagine having such a memory as you say he has, it must be very useful.”   
  
Bingley was too occupied in smiling at Miss Bennet to reply and Darcy took up the conversation with an effort. Georgiana sat beside him and listened. “He leads an interesting life, he has a strange hobby-- he likes to solve mysteries about the country to assist the Bow Street Runners...he writes to me occasionally.”

Miss Mary spoke, “that does sound interesting. I wonder if he is at all well versed in breaking open locks-- perhaps we ought to engage him for an afternoon to do so.”

“Is that what you were trying to do, Miss Mary?” asked Georgiana shyly from beside Darcy, quite surprising him with her participation. 

It was Lydia who answered and regaled the company in a lively way with what they had been attempting to do. Darcy watched the door and rose as soon as it opened. Elizabeth had put her hair up again and was bearing a heavy looking tray. Whilst the others in the room were busy peppering Miss Kitty with questions he bowed to Elizabeth and gently took the tray from her.

“Permit me to assist you, Miss Elizabeth.” 

She looked flustered but half smiled up at him and met his eyes for a moment before murmuring a disjointed word of thanks. She addressed their guests before she sat and Miss Bennet rose smoothly from her seat to pour the tea. 

“Bessie has baked ginger biscuits this morning, do have some--they are quite delicious.”


	10. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shall spare you the feeble excuses and instead demand forgiveness, armed with the bribery of another looong chapter. :) 
> 
> There is some overlap from the December letters and the January ones, on account of the dates I picked at random for Elizabeth's December letters-- essentially I am trying to keep it realistic given when Darcy would get the months letters vs when the real-time events actually took place. 
> 
> I have joined twitter-- not quite sure what to do with it apart from (unsuccessfully) guess Heyer quotes and laugh at some of the savage comments on ratemyplate-- if anyone wants to hassle me to stop procrastinating and write more, Jeannie Peneaux is easy enough to find I think! I might link to any resources I used for recent chapters on there. 
> 
> Note that I have removed the total number of chapters and left a question mark-- meaning more than one chapter left to go. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading, I hope you enjoy it.

It was with immense pleasure that Darcy read the collection of letters from Grending, on a bright January morning. Mrs. Ingles had suffered a slight delay in passing on the package from December-- a curiously bulkier parcel, he noted. The cold weather, she said, had made it hard for the young ladies to continue on with their routines-- it had taken her some ingenuity to walk out to the post office alone. Not, she said, with great seriousness, that Mr. Darcy must think she was in _any_ way lacking in ingenuity.   
  
Light of heart, as he usually was when he had the promise of his letters, Mr. Darcy gravely assured the tall lady that he had not doubted her capabilities and that she must return home to keep warm. She nodded briskly, as though having satisfied herself over something and immediately did so.

When he returned to Netherfield and carefully undid the string that held the brown paper closed, five embroidered handkerchiefs fell out onto his lap. He was unexpectedly moved and shook them out to admire them.  A yuletide gift, said Elizabeth, in her opening paragraph with the merry request that he favour hers above all the others based on the fact that she was not a natural needlewoman. 

He had been the recipient of many gifts, of varying value and given with a wide range of care. Georgiana often bought him trifling presents as she saw them in the shops, a pair of gloves, a malacca cane or more often a new book that she thought might please him. Occasionally, the children at Pemberley would offer him a posy of weeds for Miss Darcy to enjoy-- she had once or twice remarked that sometimes the simplest of gestures were the sweetest to receive.

He fully agreed at that moment, as he examined the various designs and skill of them. Five young ladies, who did not know a single thing about him, that they knew of, had spent many hours together bent over these handkerchiefs and diligently worked on them to give to a nameless stranger.

He had laughed to himself as he read her account of their encounter at Grending, how hard Elizabeth had tried, in her letter to cover her gleeful enjoyment of their adventure. Had he not overheard her instructions to her Lydia regarding their makeshift lever-- a panhandle, _ingenious_!-- he should have been quite fooled by her nonchalance.

He had been glad to have caught the conversation before the Netherfield party had been observed, Kitty’s remark to Mary about Elizabeth’s pins had caused him to dash off a note to Briggs with instructions to purchase some as a replacement. He no longer gave a thought about the white-haired man’s reaction to such a request, it hardly mattered if Briggs thought him a lovesick fool, he would do as he was bidden with quiet efficiency and if the cost of that was his private amusement, Darcy found that he did not begrudge it. There were moments that he laughed at himself for his almost obsessive search to do any small thing to make the Bennet’s lives more comfortable.

Darcy had ridden past the Evans’ dwelling with Bingley one morning and casually asked his friend if he knew whose land the place was on. A girl, wrapped up with a shawl about her head and not much older than ten, was collecting firewood and stopped to stare at the two gentlemen. She looked decidedly cold.

“I should rather think you would know better than I, Darcy, given _your_ excellent memory. I cannot tell-- it is certainly not Netherfield land, my boundary ends back yonder at the edge of the copse. Could it be within the Longbourn estate? Hallo! You there! Tell, me young lady, what is your name and whose land is this?”

The girl, startled to be addressed so had looked about her nervously and then stepped forward and bobbed a curtsy, clutching at her armful of firewood.

“Mary Evans, sir. It doesn’t really belong to anyone, really. Mr. Bennet used to say he’d see us right when he was alive but Mr. Collins will not and it isn’t on Netherfield land neither. The Miss Bennets used to come but since Miss Lizzy took ill, its jus’ been Miss Kitty.”

Bingley looked about him, the land was a trifle neglected but there was evidence that it had once been well tended. He frowned.

“Where is your father, young lady?”

“He’s within.” she nodded to the cottage. The roof needed to be rethatched and the shutters looked sadly weathered. It had not been limed for many years, it was clear that the white had quite worn away in some places and the bare stone was visible.

“He is ill?” prompted Darcy gently, when Bingley looked disapproving.

“Yes, sir, and Mam too.” She sounded more worried than a girl of her age ought to be. There was a pinched look about her that made Darcy reach into his pocket and pluck out a coin.

“Here,” he said, “you run along to make up a fire for your parents and be a good girl.” He leant down in his saddle and pressed it into her too thin hand as she used her forearms to clutch her wood. 

“Thank you, sir.”  
  
The pair rode on and Bingley spoke, “The Miss Bennets are likely very disappointed that Mr. Collins is not fulfilling the promises of their father-- I hate to say it of anyone, but he’s a bad lot.”   
  
Darcy looked grimly about him, the river was thickly covered in ice and only the deepest wells would be of any use in this frozen weather, were there snow on the ground it might be melted, but alas there was only the thick hoar frost that coated the hard ground and fence posts in its grey-white armour.   
  
“They’ll not last the winter if nothing is done, Bingley.”   
  
“Yes.  Well, if Collins cannot be worked upon, _I_ will take up the responsibility. I don’t suppose there is even any value in asking the man however, I will speak to Morris when we return. At the very least I can make sure they are fed and watered through the winter, even if the cold weather is too progressed to help much in other ways.”  

Darcy nodded, satisfied and permitted Bingley to lead the way for some minutes as they galloped across the open field that Miss Catherine had once described as having used to be the great meadow. She would be less worried now, he hoped, once she learned that the Evans family would not immediately perish on account of her cousin’s unpleasant nature.

Georgiana was waiting for him once he returned from his ride and bade him come into the drawing room at the back of the house for she and Mrs. Hurst had set up a pair of easles and were each making an attempt to draw Mr. Hurst and his favourite hound. She said in a low, amused voice as they walked that Mr. Hurst was a very good sitter-- having obligingly fallen asleep almost as soon as he had sat down, but the dog, a pointer named Rufus had been considerably less so.

  
“I said that you should be able to bring him to order easily enough, brother-- will you do so, please? Mrs. Hurst and I cannot persuade him to remain in one position at all! We have even been talking of having Mrs. Nicholls send up a meal for him, in the hopes that he might stay for more than ten minutes.” 

Darcy smiled, pleased that Georgiana was feeling at her ease. He liked it when her delight or amusement overcame her reticence-- it had been thus at Grending, she had been so caught up in Miss Catherine’s tale of pirates and such that she laughed along with all of them, all timidity forgot. The company at Grending would be good for her if he could promote the acquaintance. Elizabeth’s remarks in her December letters, saying how she should like to know Miss Darcy better if her brother would permit it, had been bittersweet to read. On the one hand, he was quite embarrassingly delighted to be referred to as ‘handsome’ but the fact that Elizabeth thought that he would keep Georgiana away from them had stung, had he his way-- he should have made them all sisters in April.   
  
He was quick to acknowledge the justice of her doubt, however-- in April he had not seen her sisters in a kindly light and thus, upon reflection, it was likely that he would have minimised Georgiana’s contact with the younger Miss Bennet’s at the very least. Elizabeth could not know that he had learnt his lesson.

They spent a cosy hour in front of the fire, the ladies quietly drawing the sleeping Hurst and Bingley and he speaking quietly of the situation with the Evans family. Rufus, like most dogs, quickly responded to the authority in Darcy’s command to ‘sit down sir, and behave like a gentleman for the ladies’ and was sent into spasms of delighted joy when his obedience earned him a particularly gratifying scratch behind his left ear.

Mrs. Hurst, once having put away her brushes, declared her intention to go above stairs to rest for a little while-- Miss Darcy must excuse her laziness for she was not at all used to country hours. Bingley went off to speak to Morris and the Darcy siblings were left together to bear Mr. Hurst company, not, thought Darcy dryly, that he desired it. “It is another lovely painting, Georgiana-- or at least it will be once it is completed.”

“Thank you, brother,” she returned, as ever pleased to earn his approval. “Fitzwilliam,” she said, quite abruptly, “should you mind taking me across to visit the Miss Bennets one afternoon? Miss Lydia said I might and--well, I do like them, for all that they are nothing like any family I have ever met.”  
  
“I will take you now if you care to go, my dear. They are a delightful family-- I should be pleased to bear you escort.”

As it happened, he was very pleased to have any excuse to visit Grending. They were made welcome and Darcy stood by the window as Georgiana was regaled by Lydia of the actual contents of the bureau. She laughed merrily to hear that all they had got for their efforts was a handful of shopping lists and Darcy, who knew of the end of the adventure from Elizabeth’s writing found that his enjoyment was increased by Miss Lydia’s lively description. The young ladies seemed to settle very quickly into each other’s company, Miss Mary hitting upon the question of whether or not Miss Darcy played and would she like to see their new instrument-- a gift from their guardian, she said. Miss Darcy did indeed play and although too shy to do so at that moment, promised that she should very much like to another time.

Elizabeth, who had been sitting beside Jane-- rose and made her way across to the window and offered him a cup of tea. He took it, more for the pleasure of taking something from her hand than any great desire for a drink, he wondered what it meant, that she had gone to the effort for him-- was she being a good mannered hostess? Did it signify favour or polite indifference? 

  
“It is a cold winter, is it not, Mr. Darcy? We have not known many so hard in Hertfordshire.”   
  
He sipped at his tea and agreed with her, turning to study her face rather than the view of the frosty garden.   
  
“It will very likely snow tonight, I should think-- there is something unmistakable in the air before snowfall.”   
  
Elizabeth laughed gently and it thrilled him to have caused it, “My father was able to tell when it would snow because he always complained of a headache the night before it would. Perhaps it is a common skill in gentleman farmers-- for your home is largely agricultural land, I believe? I think the Colonel mentioned it earlier in the year.”   
  
“Yes,” he said, a little briefly-- wondering what had made her blush-- did she favour his cousin? He hoped not, but why else should she have turned pink at his name?

“And how is he? I trust he is not posted in some draughty barracks somewhere sir!” she tried, undeterred by his brevity.

Darcy smiled, “I’m afraid you must pity him more than that, Miss Elizabeth, he is at home in the rather more draughty Matlock-- my aunt, the Countess, sent him orders that he must present himself and he knows better than to disobey _her_.”

Her smile turned wistful then, “I can sympathise with that, Longbourn was similarly afflicted when the wind blew from the North,” her smile widened and her eyes twinkled, “you might say that we are very fortunately situated here at Grending, sir-- the size of the rooms is quite ideal for us, we do not have to be constantly banking up the fire to keep warm. I suppose I might even pity you your stay at Netherfield if I were to dwell upon the subject for very long.”  
  
He found himself caught by her charm and laughed with her, relishing in the companionship of it.   
  
“You are content here, at Grending then?”   
  
It was too direct a question, too intently put and her eyes widened a little. She answered him seriously though, perhaps realising that although not phrased well, his question was kindly meant. 

“Ye-es, it is a homely little house, quite perfect for my sisters and I. It has been our own little castle in a strange way, within these walls we may be happy or jolly as it pleases us or quite dismal instead, should the mood strike.”

The Darcys departed after a half hour had passed, each in their own way quite content with how the visit had gone and Darcy at least felt hopeful that with enough practice, the awkwardness between them would diminish.

He permitted himself to wander over to talk to her after church, the following Sunday. She stood among the gravestones waiting for her sisters to finish speaking to their various friends and neighbours. Darcy was well aware that Mrs. Ingles stood watching him approach and was uncomfortably certain that she saw how he loved her charge, he could not help it if his mein softened when she looked up at him, artlessly pleased that he had ventured over.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I _am_ glad of company this morning sir, my sisters have quite abandoned me for Miss Darcy. Oh, you must not think me jealous, I like her very much. I have been standing here admiring the long line of Bennet gravestones. We are all very neatly laid out from left to right...Mama and Papa have been laid to rest over there.”   
  
She gestured with a gloved hand. Elizabeth was clearly in a confiding sort of mood and Darcy found he wished to encourage her, wished that she might always speak to him when she wanted to unburden herself. “There is a vault in the chapel at Pemberley-- my grandfather had it built when the last one became a little overcrowded. I used to find it a trifle uncomfortable as a lad when he expected to be thanked for his forethought in making room for me when my time came.”   
  
Elizabeth was amused, “Yes, I am sure that you did-- poor little boy! I remember frightening Kitty with some nonsense that there was just enough space beside our grandparents for all seven of us Bennets before a new row would need to be started. Papa found it a fine jest until she woke the household that night.” She sobered, “I suppose that the truth of the matter is that we none of us expected that we should all end our days here, certainly not Mama and Papa so soon.”

He tried to answer gently, and as kindly as he could, “It took me many years to accustom myself to the loss of my parents, Miss Elizabeth-- you must not imagine that you ought to be reconciled merely because an arbitrary amount of time has passed.”  
  
It was not enough, and not anything near what he wanted to say, but she seemed to appreciate the feeling behind his words. Her eyes, such remarkably fine eyes, warmed and he felt a kinship with her for a fleeting instant. A moment of warmth that he believed she felt too.

Elizabeth smiled at him and he wished he might raise her hand to his lips without it occasioning comment. He pressed it instead and quickly released her.   
  
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy, she said, earnestly and Darcy felt as though their argument at Hunsford were millennia away.

A frustrating week passed for Darcy, day after day of heavy snowfall and drifts left them all quite tied to Netherfield. He had hoped to take Georgiana to Grending again, but the thick blanket of white made it quite impossible. He would have to wait until the driveway was cleared for Church on Sunday and hoped that they might have another few minutes of private speech.

Darcy found himself disappointed. It had begun well enough, Elizabeth standing in the narthex as though designing for him to have an opportunity. Bingley and Miss Bennet made their way over to her, however, just as Sir William Lucas desired him to attend a small gathering at Lucas Lodge and he politely remained with that gentleman for some minutes before he could make his escape to her side. 

Miss Bennet was speaking to Bingley, the two of them might have been alone in the world given how enwrapped they were in each others presence. Elizabeth’s eyebrow had quirked a little, and her eyes were dancing. He caught her gaze and smiled slightly.

“Even Old Mrs. Farlow,  who has lived in Meryton since she was born, said that she could scarcely remember a time when it has been so cold of a winter. Mr. Bingley must be forgiven for being taken unawares by the weather, for even the locals of long standing have been surprised.”

Darcy interjected, “You are too generous to my friend, Miss Bennet-- it is a very good thing that Bingley did not take a house in Derbyshire, for he should miss any number of morning services and be quite lamentably backslidden by the end of his lease. The local gentry would be quite appalled.”   
  
Bingley laughed at this picture of himself in his cheerful way and returned with comical surprise, “I say, Darcy, I had always supposed that you _were_ the local gentry in Derbyshire-- not a nearby great house within twenty miles! I daresay your ancestors did not like a good deal of company! Come along Miss Bennet-- I must bear you off to Louisa, she wishes to bid you good morning.”   
  
They departed then and left Darcy and Elizabeth standing alone. The parishioners were quickly departing, eager to return home to their warm hearths.

Elizabeth shifted on her feet and drew her coat about her for warmth. She did not seem eager to depart.

“I do wonder, Mr. Darcy, why it is that churches must be so very draughty. It is well enough most of the time, and in a hot summer, I have been very glad of how cool it is here-- yet, I must have some sympathy for the poor, frozen, worshippers of Derbyshire. Might you install a few large fireplaces and lay down carpets, do you suppose? I am certain that the bell tower would make a very fine chimney if the top of it could be removed!”

She spoke lightly and was clearly intending to make him smile. He did so and replied, “certainly, Miss Elizabeth-- I shall investigate the matter thoroughly. The bell tower at Pemberley dates back to the year seven hundred AD but that is naturally, a very small matter when one thinks of the likelihood of freezing to death, you are very right. Something ought to be done.”

Elizabeth, clearly enjoying herself immensely, drew breath to respond but was interrupted by a young man in his early twenties.   
  
“Hallo, Miss Lizzy-- I see you have changed your dress...what a pity, I preferred the one this morning!”

Elizabeth curtseyed and quietly said, “Good morning again, Mr. Goulding,” but to Darcy’s relief offered no encouragement for the boy to remain and speak to her. When combined with the displeased frown that graced his own brow, Goulding, who had slowed his step in anticipation, awkwardly continued on past them with a bow.

“We have known the Goulding family for a very long time,” offered Elizabeth, sounding uncomfortable. Darcy, unhappy at the realisation that Elizabeth coming out of mourning would likely encourage this boy to court her if he could, remained silent. Elizabeth continued, “He came across me this morning as I was clearing the path and I have this dreadfully ugly smock that I wear when doing such things, I am prodigiously fond of it-- he was funning, you see.”

Darcy recalled to the present from contemplating what strategies he might engage to ensure that Elizabeth preferred _him,_ registered what she was saying and frowned again.

“I might wonder, Miss Elizabeth, why it was necessary for you to do such manual work as clearing snow-- it is hard work.”

He had no right to ask such a question, to demand an answer and he regretted it as soon as the words had left his mouth, particularly because she was no longer looking at him and she looked unhappy. He had not meant to make her unhappy. He should have remembered that a manservant would very likely have the morning off on a Sunday if indeed they had chosen to keep one full time. He softened his tone and spoke gently.

“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth--  I have no right to...that is, I should like your leave to send a man over to clear the path for you-- if you would permit it? I should be glad to be of _any_ service to you.”   
  
She looked up at him again then, and although her cheeks were red with embarrassment, she nodded and thanked him for the thought.

They parted and Darcy returned to Netherfield to await the next moment in which he might see her again. He worried a good deal in the interim and hoped that John Goulding would find himself filled with an urgent desire to visit friends in Scotland, or on the Continent perhaps.   
  
He worried yet more when he received another little pile of letters on the twenty-second day of that month. At first, he had been immensely relieved to receive Elizabeth’s account of that interlude in the church but that relief had quickly turned to dismay when he read her closing remarks regarding Catherine. 

It was a matter of some anxiety to read Miss Kitty’s letter then and he did so immediately. She began harmlessly enough, remarking upon her latest visit to the Evans family.   
  
_I cannot see how you could have done it sir, but the Evans family are now considerably more comfortable, except that they have attributed their newfound comfort to Mr. Bingley and his friend. Mary Evans told me that Mr. Darcy handed her a gold sovereign! It seems incredible that he would do such a thing but it matters not. Perhaps, sir, you are not flesh and blood, as we are, but a guardian angel instead and you have worked upon Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy to show compassion to the poor._

_Perhaps you do not read these letters of ours in a dark panelled study some weeks after we have posted them, but float about the sky and absorb them straight away as we write them. I wonder what Mrs. Ingles does with the letters in such a scenario-- she does not seem like an angelic being-- not that I know what angels look like. I suppose really they might look like anybody at all. We were reminded just this week in church that sometimes men have entertained angels unawares-- surely if they looked so very different they would have known?_

_Mary has been very clever-- I do not know if she will have told you of it but she has persuaded Hill to ask our old cook at Longbourn for the recipe to the figgy pudding that we were used to having every January-- it is a very old one, Papa had to translate it from the old dialect that it was written in. Jane was speaking wistfully of it in December, saying that it was a pity we should not have it as we usually do and Mary went to find Hill that next morning at the butchers where she always goes on a Tuesday. She asked at first for a copy of it but Hill roundly declared that she should have the translation that was written in her father’s own hand because Mr. Collins certainly did not deserve it. I think Mary tried to be worried that it might be stealing to do such a thing but surely a piece of paper with writing does not belong to anyone but the writer?_

_16th January_

_I think I know who you are. I cannot be certain of it but I mean to find out if I am correct or not. I will know by the time you receive this letter, should my plan work out as I intend it to. If you are who I believe you to be, I do not know at all what your motive may have been._

_If my instinct is correct, I will find a way of communicating with you, I do not intend saying a word to my sisters until I have decided what on earth you are about._

_Kitty Bennet_

Fitzwilliam Darcy did not sleep at all well that night.


	11. February

On Friday morning, it was with great trepidation that Darcy took his sister to call upon the Miss Bennets at Grending as he had promised her he should. Georgiana was clearly in spirits that day, for she spoke at length about the things that Miss Lydia had done with an old dress and the affinity she felt with Miss Mary regarding their passion for music and spoke too of her girlish awe of the eldest Miss Bennet’s very great beauty. She seemed disposed to like them very much and evidently felt that in speaking of them in such glowing terms, her brother might come to feel a similar admiration for them. He listened, almost absently, until she timidly apologised for talking so very much. Darcy assured her that he merely had a letter on his mind and assured her that he thought very highly of her friends.

“Indeed, Georgiana, I could not wish for better natured young ladies for you to be in company with-- do forgive me, I shall pay attention now, you need not ask  _ my _ pardon for my having been preoccupied.”

It appeared once they arrived at Grending cottage, that Miss Kitty was a rather better actress than he had given her credit for. There was not a glance or a change of countenance that indicated her newfound knowledge and he wondered for some minutes if her guesses were in error. She greeted them both politely with a curtsey when her turn came and was drawn off with Miss Lydia and his sister into a decidedly involved discussion of bonnets. Mrs. Ingles looked on watchfully but it was quickly evident that the young ladies were intent upon behaving well that morning and it was not at all necessary for her to check any youthful exuberance.

Elizabeth presented him with a teacup once again and he took it, glad for an excuse to be near her. She surprised him in her opening. 

“I have been wishing to speak to you most particularly, Mr. Darcy,” she began, with less confidence than he was used to hearing from her. His heart clenched as his mind leapt from one irrational fear to another in great rapidity. Perhaps her sister had spoken to her of his interference and they had elected that  _ she _ be the one to bring him to task. He wished heartily that he had had the opportunity to confess his deeds to her before being accused. 

He steadied himself and slowly answered her, “I am at your service, Miss Elizabeth. What is it that you wished to say to me?”

She looked quickly up at him, as though trying to ascertain his thoughts merely by looking at his face. “It is merely this, sir. Last April...last April I spoke to you with undeserved uncivility and…” she drew a breath and seemed to gather her courage, “I...accused you of things that I know to have been entirely false. That was wrong of me and...I earnestly beg your pardon.”

His surprised relief quickly turned to chagrin that she should so graciously apologise when the larger portion of the blame ought to fall upon him and he had remained silent. He wished that he might take her hand.    
  
“Miss Elizabeth, you need not...I must own that my words that day were so far removed from the respect with which you deserve to be shown that I cannot think of it without shame. You were entirely justified in your displeasure toward me, I would not have you feel a moment's regret,  having spoken as you did, with such admirable courage and honesty. Your information regarding me was not sound but given the skilful deceit that...that your source had at his disposal, I cannot blame you for having believed him. Particularly when my own conduct seemed to confirm it.” 

Elizabeth regarded him steadily, he looked into her eyes and was unable to determine the expression within them.

“Then I am forgiven so easily?” she mused at length, with a quick glance about the room to reassure herself that no one else present was attending to them.

Wryly, he reflected that his forgiveness was the very least of what he would give her if she but indicated that she wanted it. It was part of her charm, that she did not know her power over him-- or perhaps she did and was too kind a woman to wield it.

“There is no forgiveness necessary when no apology is needed, Miss Elizabeth, but if you desire it, I shall certainly forgive you anything. I hope that in return, you might accept my apology and grant pardon.” 

Elizabeth blushed but held his gaze and managed a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, it has been on my mind for some time that I ought to speak to you-- certainly,  _ certainly _ all must be forgiven between us and we may go on as friends.”   
  
Miss Lydia addressed her then, “Lizzy! Did you know that Mr. Bingley  _ and _ the Hursts  _ and _ Mr. Darcy are intending to attend the assembly rooms tomorrow? It will be jolly to be able to dance again, it will be our first attendance you know, Miss Darcy, for a very long while!”    
  
Georgiana gratified Miss Lydia by entering into her enthusiasm and asked her what she intended to wear, Darcy turned to Elizabeth.    
  
“I wonder, Miss Elizabeth...if I might persuade you to dance the first set with me tomorrow.”   
  
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped, “I should have been delighted to, Mr. Darcy...only I am afraid that my first dance has already been promised elsewhere…”   
  
Lydia interjected again, and this time Darcy found her jollity a little less endearing.

“Aye, for John Goulding has returned from university and grown prodigiously handsome, has he not, Lizzy? If I were not so fond of you, sister, I should be quite jealous!” 

Darcy did not know if it was Lydia’s indelicate comments that made jealousy rise up in him or Elizabeth’s blush. Was that pink staining in her cheeks on account of that Goulding boy? It would not do. He noted that most of the room was now looking at him and he responded as neutrally as he possibly could, “perhaps the second set then, Miss Elizabeth-- if that is still open?”

She looked a little relieved then, which gave him hope, and said that she should look forward to it.   
  
Miss Kitty wandered over to them and solicitously asked Elizabeth if she was feeling quite well, for her colour was still high.   
  
Elizabeth was gentle in her response, “yes, you must not fret over me, Kitty dear-- I am quite well now.”  
  
“Oh I am glad of that, I have noticed, you see, that there seem to be a dreadful amount of colds about at present.”  
  
“Doubtless it is on account of the cold weather,” said Elizabeth, quizzically.  
  
Kitty did not seem to heed her, “Yes, I suppose-- even Mr. Darcy succumbed to it in Church, did you not, sir? It is a worry, with so much illness about. I have been wondering too, if Mrs. Ingles might not be quite feeling the thing, Lizzy. I happened to notice that when she intended to go to the post office the other day, she walked _right_ _past_ it…”  
  
Darcy felt his stomach drop and knew that Miss Kitty must be spoken to as soon as may be. If she could be persuaded to maintain her silence until he could speak to Elizabeth, all might yet be well.

“Are you engaged for the first dance, Miss Catherine?”

“No, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, calmly. 

“Might I have the honour, madam?”    
  
“Yes, of course. Do excuse me, I have not yet had a cup of tea,” she said, briefly, having now achieved her object. She should soon have the answers she sought, thought Darcy, feeling for all the world like a man stood upon a scaffold. If he could not dance with Elizabeth, he might as well dance with one of her sisters and put the time to good use in being open and frank about his motives in purchasing Grending. At least in occupying himself thus, he would not be jealously watching John Goulding fawn over Elizabeth and driving himself mad by imagining her receptive to him.

The Darcy’s soon left, with the promise that they would again see each other on the morrow and Georgiana spent the return journey asking him if she might stay up and have an account of the evening once he returned.

The following day came altogether too quickly for Darcy but the day dragged on so slowly that he was well nigh willing the evening to come so that it might be done with. His eyes sought out Elizabeth as soon as he entered and he saw her across the room standing with Catherine. She looked beautiful in a pale dress that was simply adorned-- if she would accept him, she might have every costly fabric and lace at her fingertips but he could not think that she would ever be dearer to him than she was at that moment when their eyes met. He crossed the distance between them and greeted her, belatedly remembering that he must claim her sister for the first set. She smiled when she saw him but he could see plainly enough that she was out of spirits. He frowned as he led Miss Kitty to the top of the set and saw Elizabeth holding hands with the Goulding boy, a little lower down. Sourly, he thought that if Miss Lydia thought him so handsome, she would be very welcome to him, if he could be brought to let Elizabeth alone. Why was she laughing with him? He cannot have managed to say anything so witty in the space of two minutes after all. He wrenched his gaze away and looked at Kitty, standing opposite him and waiting with great patience, for him to acknowledge her existence. 

  
The orchestra struck up and they began to move. Kitty had a quietly calculating expression on her face but she waited to speak until he took her hand for the first turn. 

“I should like to know why you have done it, Mr. Darcy. I have been thinking very intently on little else and the only conclusion I can come to is not pleasing.”   
  
With deliberate calmness, Darcy led her down the set. There was little point in denying it, he had been well and truly caught.

“Perhaps you might tell me your conclusions, Miss Catherine, and I will deny or confirm them. We have little time, perhaps half an hour, to each say what must be said.”

She nodded, acknowledging the sense of it and launched into her suppositions with Lydia like frankness.   
  
“I have been supposing that you are in love with Jane and are attempting to intervene between her and Mr. Bingley-- knowing perhaps that she would not hesitate to put our welfare before that of her own happiness. If it is so, then you are a scoundrel and I do not at all care how much we owe you.”   
  
Darcy did not falter in his steps, but it was a close-run thing. He took a breath as they exchanged places twice before replying in as steady a voice as he could.    
  
“I am glad to say that you are quite out, Miss Catherine. I am not at all romantically inclined towards Miss Bennet,  _ however _ manifest her charms may be and I give you my word that I should not at all like to cause her injury by interfering in any courtship that she might wish to permit.” He could not say the same for Elizabeth, he glanced down the set and saw her promenading with Goulding-- at least she didn’t look as though she were enjoying her time with him too much. 

His dance partner caught the glance and her both of her brows raised. 

“Lizzy?” she asked, almost incredulous-- “then...but she has never liked you, not in the least. It would be wicked to force her by threatening to throw us out!”   
  
Icily, Darcy requested that Miss Catherine abandon the thought that he was a scoundrel and a rogue.    
  
“I am neither, Miss Catherine. The entire purpose of secrecy was so that she might never feel obliged to me in the least...I would not have your sister’s _gratitude_.”    
  
Kitty, although not quick at ascertaining mood in others, realised that she had offended him and looked abashed.    
  
“I am sorry,” she said, “It is just that I could not understand… if Grending is not a bargaining chip...”   
  
“Regardless of whether your sister one day chooses to accept me, Grending is yours...is hers...for however long a time as you desire it. I give you my word.”

“You must love her then?” she asked wonderingly, timid now for the first time in the dance. “To have done so much with no thought of...and she does not know?”

“I would not have her know...not yet. I am beginning to realise, Miss Catherine, that it is an unfair advantage that I have over her, she writes to me with such honesty and frankness that would not be present if she knew who she was. No, this deception must come to an end...and soon. Only, I would ask that you might remain silent for a little while longer-- I should like to speak to her myself. I have no nefarious plans nor threats to make, all I wanted throughout all of this was that I might manage to make her life a little happier, a little easier for as long as I could.”

Kitty nodded, her eyes were glassy with tears. “I will say nothing, I am sorry I thought you were so blackhearted...I am afraid I only remembered how proud and haughty you were last year and decided that you must be a villain. When will you tell her? It ought not to be so long, you know if she is to know.”

  
A great relief descended upon him, he had an ally. Clearly, Miss Kitty had quickly turned her low opinion of him.    
  
“Thank you. I will try to find an appropriate moment, it would not be quite fair in so public a place as this, she might wish to upbraid me after all and I do not think she would later like such a scene to be caused.”   
  
His partner nodded again as she lightly covered the distance between them and offered her hands for a turn.    
  
“Yes, yes. That is well thought out-- she would not like. She and Mrs. Ingles have both tried to point out that there is a difference between public and private behaviour. It does not quite make sense to me, for I should rather be the same everywhere but I can quite see that it would matter to Elizabeth.” She bit her lip and seemed to consider whether or not to continue, “For what it is worth, I think you are very kind and I hope...I hope she does change her mind about you. There, we are almost down to the bottom of the set and you are to dance with Lizzy next are you not? I shall find Lydia, I am not dancing the next but I do not mind that-- I am out of practice after so long away from balls.”   
  
Touched, Darcy smiled at her, “Thank you, Miss Catherine, I should be very happy to have you for my sister.” 

He led her over to Miss Lydia and went to find Elizabeth.

If at the beginning of their dance, his heart had been full of hope by the time the music ceased, he was quite cast down. There were no delightful smiles, no sparkling glances or merry laughs cast in his direction. She answered him briefly and politely enough but in such low tones as to make him worry for her health. Elizabeth could barely so much as look at him let alone assist him in his attempts at conversation. 

At first, he wondered if she was teaching him a lesson of sorts, given how often he had been glad to leave their conversations to her to begin and carry on. Ordinarily, she had such a light and easy manner of engaging him that he had been willing to leave the bulk of the burden to her. He tried to amend matters and tried to speak on subjects that he thought might amuse her. 

It was to no avail and he eventually lapsed into his habitual silence, all the while wondering what was amiss. Perhaps her dance with John Goulding had persuaded her that she did not wish to spend her time with him, perhaps she had changed her mind about them being friends let alone anything more. Kitty’s belief that she disliked him rose to the forefront of his mind and quiet despair crept upon him.

Darcy spent the remainder of their time relishing each moment with her, aware that it might very well be his last. If she would not have him, if his company was burdensome to her, he must take himself off and not become a nuisance. He could give her that much peace after all.

When their dance ended, he bowed deeply to her and quietly said that he would return her to Mrs. Ingles. 

“Miss Elizabeth...I can quite see that my company has made you uncomfortable and I have no desire to cause you unhappiness. I...promise that I shall not importune you again. You may rest easy. Here, Mrs. Ingles, I return your charge to you. Good evening, ladies.”   
  
He did not look back, his hope--that hope that had been quietly growing within him for some weeks now was too crushed for him to be able to do so with any equinamity. Instead,  he crossed over to Hurst and bore him company for some ten minutes until he saw Elizabeth exit through the main door of the assembly. He sought out Mrs. Ingles immediately.    
  
“Has Miss Elizabeth left? I hope she was not unwell, madam-- has she gone alone?”   
  
Mrs. Ingles had her eyes on Lydia who was moving through the dance with a shy young man who seemed quite smitten. She did not remove her watchful gaze as she replied.    
  
“It's my thinking that she was more unhappy than anything, sir, I know when not to pry. Ask too many questions to a teary young lady and you quickly have a river of noisy tears to contend with. She asked leave to go and I said that she might, Sir William Lucas offered her his carriage, she’ll be well enough, I will have a word with her when I take the other ladies home. It’ll not be too long, I shouldn’t think, from the way Miss Lydia is determined to enslave that young parson.”

He left himself soon after and returned back to Netherfield to give as lively an account of the gathering as he could to his weary sister. She asked him a good number of questions that he could only reply vaguely to but acquitted himself well when it came to describing the dimensions of the room and the number of people.

He took himself off to bed quickly, using Georgiana’s evident fatigue as a sufficient excuse. His last bow to Elizabeth had felt like goodbye and his misery cut into him deeply.

Darcy remained thus for three more days when he encountered Mrs. Ingles and Kitty in town. Miss Catherine looked relieved to see him. 

“Oh, it is Mr. Darcy! We came out yesterday and the day before that in the hope of meeting you and had you not come into town today, I should have had to find a messenger boy or something!”   
  
“What is it?” he asked, hearing the agitation in her voice and seeing the worried crease in Mrs. Ingles brow.    
  
“It’s Lizzy! She is very unhappy and I have quite decided that you must be the cause of it somehow so you will just have to mend it!”   
  
Irrepressible hope blossomed again. “Unhappy? I am sorry to hear it. Has she said I am the cause? If I may mend matters I will do so but without further information, I should rather struggle to.”   
  
Mrs. Ingles spoke up in her calm way and handed him the squarely folded letter that she had been pulling out of her reticule as Kitty had hailed him.    
  
“I’d imagine that her letter will give you all the information you need, sir. No, it isn’t addressed to you, rather to her dear nameless stranger. She asked me if I might take it sooner than waiting for her sisters to write theirs.”    
  
Darcy nodded shortly to them and mounted his horse. He had intended to purchase a new pair of gloves but his errand was entirely abandoned and he could think only of his letter. He reigned in his horse some small distance from town and read Elizabeth’s letter, alternating between joy in her disclosures and unhappiness that she should be suffering so unnecessarily. She loved him! The knowledge of it made him smile broadly and delight suffused his being.

He fully realised when reading her letter for the third time that it was exceptionally ungentlemanly of him to be privy to her thoughts as he was. He had not intended it, but it being what it was it  _ must _ end. He would meet her and acknowledge all-- perhaps she would hear his reasons and forgive him. Perhaps she might even allow him to beg for her hand once again. Darcy had felt desperate enough before asking her in April, but that was the desperation of impatience to have the thing done. He had thought that he would confer his name and his riches upon her like a mantle that she would gratefully accept. She would be the most beloved wife in all of England and they would be quite, quite happy.

Darcy did not feel so now. Her hand was an honour to be conferred upon him, he had not devoured every letter she had ever sent him and become less desirous of wedding her, had he? Not a bit of it. He wondered what he would do if she would not forgive him and pushed the thought away.

He urged his horse onward and they galloped toward Netherfield wherein Darcy wrote no less than three notes in reply to Elizabeth’s. He was content by the second that he had phrased himself well enough but found it necessary to disguise his hand a trifle. He disliked to, particularly when he was so intent upon revealing the truth of things to her but he reminded himself that it would do neither of them any good if she guessed it from his writing and then refused to see him.

Tuesday morning could not come soon enough. He had received her confirmation of their meeting and braced himself for the inevitable. There would be no more delightful letters from her, written to her dear nameless stranger, for better or for worse, that chapter was entirely closed now. He must cherish the letters of hers that he already had and hope for better things, that one day she might write to him as a wife might write to her husband.

He arrived early and waited for some time before seating himself on a cold flat rock.  He was glad of his heavy greatcoat for it was bitingly cold. He held her penultimate letter in his hand, reassuring himself of her declaration of love. However unfair he felt it to be, that he should know what was in her heart before she had chosen to utter it, he found great comfort in seeing those words in ink. He mused on them, enjoying the quiet morning as he watched the cloud shadows silently passing by across the frozen countryside beneath him.

He heard the crack of a twig behind him, it cracked through the stillness of the morning. Slowly he stood and turned.

“Sir?” breathed Elizabeth Bennet.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Sorry! I know it was too long a wait but a)writing time was sparse b)this chapter daunted me more than I care to admit, but we are DONE!!!
> 
> I have now learnt that I don't much like posting while I am still writing so the next time I post something (Charlotte Lucas' story from Tactful series) it will be mostly written already. 
> 
> If you want the proposal scene, head over to the epilogue of Dear Nameless Stranger because I like it too much to muck around with it from a different perspective. This epilogue kicks off from where DNS left off. 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it, it is both longer and shorter than I expected, in that it is many words but the cut off is sooner than I thought it would be, it seemed entirely appropriate to end things where I did. Thank you, everyone, for your enormous patience, your kind comments to cajole me into carrying on and your general lovely support. I hope to see you at the next one! :)

As he walked beside Elizabeth down the frosted slopes of Oakham Mount, occasionally reaching out to steady her descent when the numbness of her feet made her step a little less sure, Darcy reflected that he was a good deal happier than he had had any expectation of being. Certainly, he had known from her letters that she loved him, but there had been that plaguing,  _ nagging _ doubt that her anger at his subterfuge would quickly make her forget all that. 

Once or twice, she would pause on her way, turning back to look at him when the path narrowed so much that it only permitted a single person. She must have walked these narrow, twisting paths, many times in her girlhood, he thought. It was likely that she would miss them, for all that he could only read delighted joy in her eyes at present. He knew that it was reflected in his own eyes. The happy feeling of knowing that his long-standing attachment was quite evidently requited, that she, by her own sweet admission,  _ loved _ him-- it was almost too great a happiness for one man to bear.

It was far too cold to remain outside for long, however much he treasured each single moment in the outdoors-- if only because they were utterly alone and, finally, of one accord.

Elizabeth had kissed him on the cheek, Darcy would have doubtless savoured the gesture more had his face not been so numb from being exposed to the elements and had he not felt an icy chill when her nose touched his skin. Still, it warmed him in a way-- that they would have a lifetime of such delightful moments, in warmer, cosier environs.

He regretted as they neared the cottage, that the some of the townsfolk were milling about-- the bakers assistant was clearing the shop window of the frost that obscured his employer's wares. The boy touched his cap to Elizabeth and called out a ‘g’mornin’ Miss Bennet!’ to her as she passed. She smiled at him, her happiness could not be fully contained it seemed and her voice was a trilling, merry thing as she returned his greeting. 

“Good morning, Peter! Has Mr. Simons any sweet buns ready to be iced this fine day?”   
  
The boy laughed but a glance at the tall gentleman beside her seemed to check him a little, “Aye Miss-- he says that the Bennet sisters was a mite unhappy with him that day he run out last month so he’s afeared now.”   
  
Elizabeth laughed again and waved cheerily as they walked on.    
  
“Do you want something from the bakery, Elizabeth? May I get you something?” he cared not a jot that he sounded like an eager schoolboy, if Elizabeth could be made happy by such things as was in his power to procure for her then it was his privilege to provide them. 

She went to reach for his hand instinctively and checked herself at the last moment before colouring. He would welcome the day when they were married and maintaining a proper distance was not quite so necessary.

Her tone was warm and sweet when she answered, “No, not now Fitzwilliam-- I should like to return to Grending and speak to my sisters, I do not wish to keep our happiness only to ourselves for now...it ought to be shared. You do not mind?”

He shook his head and they made their way back to the cottage. He reached above her head to push the door open and she stepped in beneath his arm into the hallway. The passage was a little cool still but it was a good deal warmer than outside. She quickly divested herself of her bonnet, coat and gloves-- leaving them on the ugly bureau before turning to take his hat from him. 

“Come along, my dear-- the others will likely be in the little parlour, judging by the noise, I do trust there is a good fire in there!”

“Is that you, Lizzy? We are in here, dearest-- you ought not to have stayed out so long in the cold when you were so very ill in October,” called Jane, her tone gently reproachful. Miss Bennet was dressed simply that morning, her dress was difficult to determine the colour of, for she had swathed herself in a very thick and large shawl. She stopped short at the sight of Mr. Darcy ducking his head to step into their parlour. “Oh, I beg your pardon...I  had not realised, is aught amiss?” She looked, worriedly to her beaming sister and her puzzlement was evident. Elizabeth slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, still beaming. 

  
“You will not mind if I tell, will you, sir?”    
  
He smiled a little, “you must always do just as it pleases you, Madam.”   
  
“Oh I think I shall!” she replied humorously, she turned to address the room-- Kitty was regarding her steadily, clearly having put the puzzle pieces together correctly this time. “Well, my dear sisters, and Mrs Ingles too-- I insist upon your sharing in my joy. Mr. Darcy and I are to be married.”   
  
The reaction of the room to such an astonishing declaration was one that Elizabeth clearly savoured, Miss Bennet sat down heavily--quite shocked by Elizabeth’s brief announcement. Kitty, in turn, sprung from her seat and surged forward. 

“ _ I knew it _ ! I  _ knew _ that this would happen!” she cried, excitedly, “Mrs. Ingles can attest to it that  _ I _ guessed correctly.” 

“La!” cried Lydia, with no small degree of impatience, “how could you have known, Kitty? Lizzy, are you serious? You are not jesting? No, I suppose you cannot be, for Mr. Darcy would have denied it if you had been and he is...well. I wish you joy, for all it will be prodigious strange without you here with us.” There was a determined smile on Lydia’s face, but she was not at all accustomed to concealing her feelings and however brave she tried to be, she could not keep a mournful note from creeping in.

Darcy spoke kindly to her, she might be wildly different to Georgiana but it was clear to him that she was as attached to Elizabeth as  _ his _ sister was to him,  “She is indeed sincere, Miss Lydia, but you must not be afraid that I shall take her from you, I know well how you love one another-- if you are willing to come, you must come to Pemberley. My sister should like it, I know and I do not think Elizabeth will be content without her family about her.”

The practically minded Miss Mary spoke up, she did not look displeased, far from it, she embraced Elizabeth who danced around the room demanding embraces and felicitations by turn, before watching her sister return to the side of the man who was responsible for this overbrimming joy.

_ "Lizzy _ , what of the decree? I mean the one from our...guardian.”

Elizabeth, having been occupied in making her betrothed sit beside her looked up and laughed before she turned her head back to look at him with a glint in her eye, “Yes, the  _ decree,  _ you ought to know sir, that we have for ourselves the most monstrously strict guardian who has issued a law for us that we are none of us to marry whilst we remain his wards. Is it not dreadfully antiquated, Mr. Darcy? You must be thinking him a very elderly and crotchety old fellow but we are prodigiously fond of him for all that.”

Kitty giggled as Darcy reddened, even as he appreciated Elizabeth’s wit. It was no hardship to be teased by Elizabeth, she would very likely do so for a very long time to come if the Lord blessed them with long lives. 

She laid a gentle hand on his arm for a moment before sobering. “I think you ought to tell this part, Mr. Darcy, it is more your story to tell than mine, after all.”

He nodded and wondered why it should be that a sense of nervousness had returned to him as the ladies of Grending sat, waiting for him to explain the mystery. He looked to Miss Bennet, who was still sat clutching her shawl and looking very surprised, before glancing in turn to the younger girls, Miss Kitty wore an expression of great triumph and sat beside Mrs. Ingles whose face betrayed nothing at all, save perhaps for a lurking twinkle in her eyes.   
  
Lydia was beginning to look annoyed and pouted slightly as her eyes darted between Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth and Kitty.

“I suppose you are all going to be prodigiously  _ mysterious  _ and keep every bit of fun to yourselves?”

Lizzy shook her head, “patience, Lydia-- Mr. Darcy will enlighten us all to the whole very shortly.”   
  
Miss Bennet rose, collecting herself, “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy but Elizabeth has not breakfasted yet this morning and we have been awaiting her, will you join us? It is not so improper is it, if Mrs. Ingles is by and since you are to become our brother.”   
  
Darcy rose, his thoughts once again occupied by the necessity of taking good care of Elizabeth.    
  
“Not in the least improper, Miss Bennet-- I thank you for the invitation, I should be glad to. I hope that it will be the first of many. Do not be concerned, Miss Lydia, I will reveal the mystery as we break our fasts.” He looked down to Elizabeth, “Perhaps we ought to have bought buns from the bakery, my dear, for I am very hungry.”   
  
“I have not felt so desirous of food for many months now, Mr. Darcy-- no doubt the morning walk has quite restored my appetite.”   
  
“Then you must be fed. Lead on, Miss Bennet.” 

They all went into the dining room, it was not quite so warm as the little parlour, but the fire had been lit and the teapot on the table emitted an inviting plume of steam. Darcy glanced at Kitty, remembering her fanciful fascination with such things, but she appeared not to have noticed it this morning, for she was eager to be seated and to have her sisters know all that she knew. 

  
Having drained his first cup of tea and having taken a hot roll to his plate and a quantity of blackberry jam, Darcy was ready to begin.   
  
“Some time ago, in April, I believe it must have been-- I received a letter from my late mother’s sister. That same lady is or was, responsible for the living at Hunsford Parsonage...Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Lady Catherine, in amongst other news from Kent, imparted to me the news that your parents had tragically passed away, knowing as she did that I claimed an acquaintance with your sister-- having often met Elizabeth under her roof. Furthermore, she wrote to me of her very shocking advice to your cousin that he need not to his duty to you and care for you as the heir to your father’s estate  _ ought _ to care for you. I, as you may imagine, was very shocked by this and took it into my head to amend the wrongdoing of my relative...as secretly as I possibly could. I hope that you will forgive me for the interference.”   
  
He looked to Elizabeth who sat to his left and had refilled his cup. 

Miss Bennet looked as agitated as he had ever seen her, she was not a lady given to public display but she wrung her hands and trembled as she answered him. “Forgive you! Mr. Darcy, there can be no question of any such thing! You know yourself, for I wrote of it, how very afraid we all were in those days after Mama and Papa were buried-- I had scarcely slept at night for worrying over how we should all be separated and you...you have rescued us and showed such Christian generosity of spirit that I hardly know how to express my gratitude!”

“ _ Our _ gratitude,” corrected Lydia Bennet, surprisingly. “Jane was not the only one of us afraid, sir. You ought not to ask pardon, you know-- for having done something so kind.”

“Lydia is right, we cannot ever repay you,” said Mary and then adding, “it was you then, who sent the doctor from London when Lizzy was so very ill. You have saved us in more than one way then.”

This was too much for Darcy, who shifted a little in his chair and shook his head, “I want no such talk of gratitude or repayment-- I acted to right a wrong done by a member of my own family and if it has turned out for the best then I am very glad of it. Elizabeth has been so good as to bestow her hand upon me and I am entirely content. If you will consent to come to Pemberley, I should be more content still, for I know how much you value each other and to part you now, would cause you pain. Will you consider it? I should be glad of an answer as soon as may be for if you will come I must make the arrangements-- I should like to marry Elizabeth as soon as I may.”

Lydia looked at him oddly, “Mr. Darcy, from what Miss Darcy has told us, Pemberley is a very large and fine house-- I for one cannot see why anyone would need much persuasion to relocate there.” Miss Lydia’s blunt manner of speaking did not offend him, as it might have done when he had first encountered her, rather, he smiled and was glad of it. He could be glad of everything that day.    
  
Jane looked wistful, “we should be sorry of course, to bid farewell to our friends and...our neighbours, but naturally, I am sure we should all wish to be near Lizzy.”   
  
“Yes, that is very true!” declared Kitty, “Might Mrs. Ingles remain with us, Mr. Darcy? I somehow cannot quite envisage being anywhere without her.”   
  
Mr. Darcy, relieved at the general consensus, turned to that lady, “Well, Mrs. Ingles? Might you be persuaded to come to Derbyshire with your charges? You have kept them safe very admirably since you came.”   
  
Calmly returning her cup to her saucer with a soft clink, Mrs. Ingles almost smiled, “Certainly, Mr. Darcy, for I’ve grown as fond of them as they have of me, sir. I shall only be content to leave them when they are all married and have husbands and houses of their own to manage.”    
  
Mr. Darcy accepted, without comment, Mrs. Ingles implication that he should be managed every bit as much as his household.    
  
“Miss Mary, you’ve not given your opinion, are you reluctant? You need only say, if so.”   
  
“No,” said Mary slowly, “I am not reluctant sir, it is just I was thinking about the little pianoforte in the parlour...I should be sorry to leave it, for all Miss Darcy said there is a very fine instrument at Pemberley. I do not quite know how it is but I am fonder of it than anything because it made us so happy when we had been so unhappy before. More so even than the instrument at Longbourn.”

“It shall come with us to Derbyshire, Miss Mary,” promised Darcy, solemnly.

It took the space of a week to arrange the wedding and there was much activity in that space of time. Darcy rode to London and pressed his Uncle, the Earl, to persuade Archbishop Sutton-Manners to grant a special license to his nephew. Whilst he was awaiting that same gentleman’s answer, he visited Briggs at his place of work. 

  
Mr. Briggs looked up in some surprise when Mr. Darcy was announced and immediately rose to greet him. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy-- do sit down, how may I be of assistance to you?”

“There are one or two changes Briggs, to the arrangements with Grending that I should like you to take charge of.”

“Certainly Mr. Darcy, what might those changes be?” He drew across the polished desk a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his pen into the inkpot in readiness.

Darcy leant back comfortably in his chair and crossed his legs and laced his fingers together. Briggs looked up from his paper expectantly. He was a conundrum, this white-haired man-- so efficiently businesslike and yet so quietly entertained by the whole situation.

“I want Grending Cottage shut up for the present, I may sell it in a year or so-- perhaps it might be let in the interim.”

Something like disappointment flashed in the older man’s face as he glanced up at Mr. Darcy for a brief moment before his attention returned to the even strokes of his pen. By the time he had completed his note, his entire demeanour was blank.    
  
“Furthermore,” said Darcy, casually, “the Miss Bennets are to relocate to Pemberley in Derbyshire within a few days time... following my marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet on Tuesday.”

All careful impassivity vanished and a crooked smile appeared in its place. 

“Ah! May I congratulate you heartily, Mr. Darcy. I will arrange all, of course.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Briggs-- now, I should also like to discuss the marriage terms. There is some confusion regarding the late Mr. Bennet’s attorney, being that there are two, a Mr. Lippet here in London and a Mr. Phillips in Meryton. It might be that Mr. Gardiner of Gracechurch Street, can shed some light on the matter, I intend to call upon them later today, the Miss Bennets have charged me with delivering some letters.”

It was a decidedly busy few days that Darcy spent in London, however greatly he desired to return to Netherfield and marry Elizabeth, he found that between making arrangements and writing letters of instruction to Pemberley, there was barely a moment to be had in which he could pause and consider that this separation, however unpleasant, would be the last between them. He would no longer eke out his existence waiting for the next month to come when he would receive another letter and fool himself that she was writing to  _ him _ and not some nameless stranger.

He received with the greatest of pleasure and surprise, a letter at breakfast on the morning that he was to depart from London. All had been arranged to his satisfaction and he had even cheerfully done Miss Lydia’s bidding and purchased a bolt of primrose yellow silk. She had seized the opportunity to speak to him privately when Elizabeth’s attention was directed elsewhere. 

“Mr. Darcy, I should like you to buy me...or rather buy Elizabeth some silk-- in as light a shade of primrose as you can possibly find. I cannot do anything with it before the wedding, of course, it is too soon for that but I should very much like to make something delightful for Lizzy...for after the wedding.” She looked up at him hopefully, her eyes wide and beseeching. Lydia Bennet was not unintelligent in her own way, she knew very well that he would agree to anything at present-- perhaps he should make an attempt to be a little stricter when they moved to Pemberley. For now, however, he would indulge her and was rewarded by a triumphant smile and an assurance that he should not regret it.

He admired his own name, written in Elizabeth’s hand on the outside of the paper and broke the seal.

_ Dear Mr. Darcy,  _

_ Perhaps, by and by, after we have been married for some twenty years, I will open a letter with the words, ‘my love’, or ‘dearest Fitzwilliam’, for now however-- and I have begun this epistle twice over already, it seems only fitting to start off simply, given that you have been Mr. Darcy for as long as I have known you. _

_ It is a happy thought, to dwell on the easy affection that I hope will spring up between us, as we become more and more accustomed to loving one another and being loved. I am giddy this day sir, for all that you have left not half an hour ago and I wish that you were here still and that we might talk once more. If it were summer, I might have donned my smock-- it must certainly come with us to Pemberley, although I will not receive calls in it, of course-- and taken you out into the garden to admire my flowers and lavender bed. If you have no lavender at Pemberley, you will permit me to steal a little corner of the place and plant some, will you not? Pottering about in a garden has become a soothing activity for me and I have managed to work my way into a far better mood in this little cottage garden on many an occasion. I like to think that when we are cross with one another, you can retire to your stables and me to my garden, we shall reconvene later on and have persuaded ourselves to return to a state of family harmony in very little time at all. _

_ How romantic I am, Fitzwilliam! To be only engaged half a day and already imagining marital squabbles. Do not doubt that they will arise, my dear-- I am not of a disposition to remain silent when I disagree with you any more than you would with me. Only remember, please, that I love you very dearly and we shall manage very well indeed. _

_ Oh my dear man! When I think of how much you have done for us, it almost makes me wish to rashly promise that I shall always let you have your own way in all things forevermore...but it would not answer, would it? I have been reflecting since we walked down Oakham Mount together this morning that I must be the most fortunate girl in all of England, the world even. How many young ladies in my situation can boast of being loved by the man they are to marry, even after that young man knows them thoroughly? If my letters have done anything, it is to enlighten you as to my true character, my faults as well as my few virtues. It bodes well, I think, that in spite of such knowledge of me, you love me regardless. _

_ I hope that you will persuade Miss Darcy to come to Grending early tomorrow and spend the day with us. We shall be quite cosy and merry, I believe. I think that Jane and Mrs. Ingles are quite decided that they shall oversee the packing up of our entire lives for the second time in a year and Lydia has been poring over sheets of paper and drawing out ideas for a wedding gown for me. I told her that I was quite willing to walk to Church wearing the lavender one she designed so recently but she looked so scandalised that I was obliged to check my laughter. I do not care a whit what I wear to our wedding, sir, perhaps I might have done if I had accepted you in April but for the present, all I am concerned with is that you should come back very soon and be near me once again. _

_ It is with a far happier step that we make plans to relocate to Derbyshire than we did to move from Longbourn. If Papa’s library were still at my disposal, I should even now be searching inside it for a map of the north of England to try to locate the place where our new home shall be. _

_ How is it that we were not permitted to even bring any of Papa’ books or even the paintings of our Bennet ancestors to Grending with us? I cannot help but return to the unfairness of it all, what possible need can Mr. Collins have for them, when they bear neither interest nor resemblance to him? There is one miniature of my great-grandmama that I should have liked to show you, for if you are able to overlook the enormity of her wig, she has the look of me I believe. Do not fear, I shall not dwell on the matter and be cast into low spirits. Instead, I shall picture for myself a very pretty future ahead of us and not spend a moment longer regretting the things of the past. _

_ Do hurry back, Fitzwilliam! I have thought of at least an hundred more questions regarding this past year that only you can answer and my curiosity must be satisfied. I shall not rest until I know all and have thanked you for every little instance of generosity that you have bestowed upon us. You must endure it as best you can, my dear!  _

_ How unhappy your Aunt will be to hear of our engagement, I should not be at all surprised if she were to visit you to try to persuade you of the folly of the course that you have set yourself. I do hope you will not be swayed. No, I know you better than that, do I not? If I myself, by my own foolish words, could not persuade you to entirely give me up last year, I highly doubt that anyone else could do so. I find that I am able to admire you for your constancy, my love, even as my heart aches for the unhappiness you must have endured at my hand. _

_ I shall end this now, perhaps my last letter to you as ‘Elizabeth Bennet’, I will take great pleasure hereafter in signing myself ‘Elizabeth Darcy’. There! My pen has coaxed from me all manner of sincere ardency-- I had better ask your sister for the correct address to send this while my courage is still high. _

_ It occurs to me that even as this letter is the last of its kind, it is the first also...I have never written a love letter before in my life, nor even particularly felt any desire to--how funny it is, that I should know how. _

_ With all my love, _

_ Elizabeth Bennet. _

 

__  
  
  
  


  
  



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